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THE POEMS OF 



WILLIAM WATSON 



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THE POEMS OF 



WILLIAM WATSON 



m^ gorit 


f 


MACMILLAN AND 


CO. 


AND LONDON 




1893 




AH rights reserved 








Copyright, 1893, 
By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith. 
Boston, Mass,, U.S.A. 



CONTENTS 



Miscellaneous — 

Prelude 

Autumn 

World-Strangeness . 

" When Birds were Songless " . 

The Mock Self .... 

" Thy Voice from Inmost Dreamland 

In Laleham Churchyard . 

The Flight of Youth . 

" Nay, bid me not my Cares to leave 

A Child's Hair .... 

The Key-Board . . . . 

"Scentless Flow'rs I bring Thee" 

On Landor's " Hellenics " . 

To ..... 

V 



calls 



3 
4 
6 

7 
8 

9 

ID 

i6 
17 

22 
24 

25 
26 



vi CONTENTS 



PAG2 



Miscellaneous {continued) 

On Exaggerated Deference to Foreign Lite- 
rary Opinion 27 

England to Ireland 28 

Mensis Lacrimarum 30 

"Under the Dark and Piny Steep" ... 31 

The Blind Summit .32 

To Lord Tennyson 2>3 

Sketch of a Political Character ... 34 

Art Maxims 36 

The Glimpse 37 

The Ballad of the " Britain's Pride " . . 38 

Lines 40 

The Raven's Shadow 42 

Lux Perdita 45 

England and her Colonies .... 46 

History 47 

The Empty Nest 48 

Ireland 49 

The Lute-Player 50 

"And these — are these indeed the End" . 51 

The Russ at Kara ...... 52 



CONTENTS vii 

* PAGE 

iMisCELLANEOUS (^coutinued^ — 

Liberty rejected . . . . . . -53 

Life without Health 55 

To A Friend, chafing at enforced Idleness 

from interrupted health .... 56 

"Well he slumbers, greatly slain" . . 57 

An Epistle 58 

To Austin Dobson 62 

To Edward Clodd 63 

To Edward Dowden 64 

Felicity 67 

Ver Tenebrosum, Sonnets of March and April 1SS5 — 

The Soudanese 71 

Hasheen 72 

The English Dead '73 

Gordon 74 

Gordon {concluded') ...... 75 

The True Patriotism 76 

Restored Allegiance 77 

The Political Luminary 78 

Foreign Menace . . = . . . '79 
Home-rootedness . , , , , . . 80 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ver Tenebrosum {continued^ — 

Our Eastern Treasure . . . . .81 

Reported Concessions 82 

Nightmare 83 

Last Word: to the Colonies . . . .84 

Epigrams 85 

Wordsworth's Grave 99 

lachrym.e musarum ii 3 

Dedication of "The Dream of Man" ... .123 

The Dream of Man 126 

Shelley's Centenary 138 

A Golden Hour . 143 

At the Grave of Charles Lamb , . . .144 
Lines in a Flyleaf of " Christabel "... 145 

Lines to our New Censor 146 

Reluctant Summer *. .148 

The Great Misgiving 149 

"The Things that are more Excellent" . . 151 

Beauty's Metempsychosis 155 

England my Mother 156 

Night . . . . . . . . • .161 

The Fugitive Ideal . . , « .. . .163 



CONTENTS ix 



PAGE 



"The Foresters" ^^4 

Song ^^^ 

Columbus ^^7 

The Prince's Quest • ^7^ 

Angelo ^47 

The Questioner • ^6° 

The River ^^^ 

Changed Voices 264 

A Sunset ^^5 

A Song of Three Singers 267 

Love's Astrology 269 

Three Flowers ^7^ 

Three Eternities • • ^7^ 

Love Outloved ^74 

Vanishings ^77 

Beethoven ^7° 

God-Seeking ^79 

Skyfaring 2^° 



MISCELLANEOUS 



PRELUDE 

The mighty poets from their flowing store 
Dispense Hke casual ahms the careless ore ; 
Through throngs of men their lonely way they go, 
Let fall their costly thoughts, nor seem to know. — 
Not mine the rich and shov/ering hand, that strews 
The facile largess of a stintless Muse. 
A fitful presence, seldom tarrying long, 
Capriciously she touches me to song — 
Then leaves me to lament her flight in vain, 
And wonder will she ever come again. 

3 



AUTUMN 

Thou burden of all songs the earth hath sung, 
Thou retrospect in Time's reverted eyes, 
Thou metaphor of everything that dies, 

That dies ill-starred, or dies beloved and young 
And therefore blest and wise, — 

O be less beautiful, or be less brief. 

Thou tragic splendour, strange, and full of fear 
In vain her pageant shall the Summer rear ? 

At thy mute signal, leaf by golden leaf, 
Crumbles the gorgeous year. 



Ah, ghostly as remembered mirth, the tale 

Of Summer's bloom, the legend of the Spring ! 
And thou, too, flutterest an impatient wing, 
Thou presence yet more fugitive and frail. 

Thou most unbodied thing. 
Whose very being is thy going hence. 

And passage and departure all thy theme ; 
Whose life doth still a splendid dying seem, 

4 



AUTUMN 5 

And thou at height of thy magnificence 
A figment and a dream. 

Stilled is the virgin rapture that was June, 

And cold is August's panting heart of fire ; 

And in the storm- dismantled forest-choir 
For thine own elegy thy winds attune 

Their wild and wizard lyre : 
And poignant grows the charm of thy decay, 

The pathos of thy beauty, and the sting, 

Thou parable of greatness vanishing ! 
For me, thy woods of gold and skies of grey 
With speech fantastic ring. 

For me, to dreams resigned, there come and go, 
'Twixt mountains draped and hooded night and morn. 
Elusive notes in wandering wafture borne. 

From undiscoverable lips that blow 
An immaterial horn j 

And spectral seem thy winter-boding trees. 
Thy ruinous bowers and drifted foliage wet — 
O Past and Future in sad bridal met, 

O voice of everything that perishes, 
And soul of all regret ! 



WORLD-STRANGENESS 

Strange the world about me lies, 
Never yet familiar grown — 

Still disturbs me with surprise, 

Haunts me like a face half known. 

In this house with starry dome, 

Floored with gemlike plains and seas, 

Shall I never feel at home. 
Never wholly be at ease ? 

On from room to room I stray, 
Yet my Host can ne'er espy, 

And I know not to this day 
Whether guest or captive I. 

So, between the starry dome 

And the floor of plains and seas, 

I have never felt at home, 
Never wholly been at ease. 
6 



"WHEN BIRDS WERE SONGLESS " 

When birds were songless on the bough 

I heard thee sing. 
The world was full of winter, thou 

Wert full of spring. 

To-day the world's heart feels anew 

The vernal thrill, 
And thine beneath the rueful yew 

Is wintry chill. 
7 



THE MOCK SELF 

Few friends are mine, though many wights there be 

Who, meeting oft a phantasm that makes claim 

To be myself, and hath my face and name, 

And whose thin fraud I wink at privily. 

Account this light impostor very me. 

What boots it undeceive them, and proclaim 

Myself myself, and whelm this cheat with shame ? 

I care not, so he leave my true self free. 

Impose not on me also ; but alas ! 

I too, at fault, bewildered, sometimes take 

Him for myself, and far from mine own sight, 

Torpid, indifferent, doth mine own self pass ; 

And yet anon leaps suddenly awake. 

And spurns the gibbering mime into the night. 



"THY VOICE FROM INMOST DREAMLAND 

CALLS " 

Thy voice from inmost dreamland calls ; 

The wastes of sleep thou makest fair ; 
Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls 

The cataract of thy hair. 

The morn renews its golden birth : 

Thou with the vanquished night dost fade ; 
<iWv A^id leav'st the ponderable earth 
Less real than thy shade. 
9 



IN LALEHAM CHURCHYARD 

(August i8, 1890) 

'TwAS at this season, year by year, 
The singer who Hes songless here 
Was wont to woo a less austere, 

Less deep repose, 
Where Rotha to Winandermere 

Unresting flows, — 

Flows through a land where torrents call 
To far-off torrents as they fall, 
And mountains in their cloudy pall 

Keep ghostly state, 
And Nature makes majestical 

Man's lowliest fate. 

There, 'mid the August glow, still came 
He of the twice-illustrious name, 
The loud impertinence of fame 



IN LALEHAM CHURCHYARD 11 

Not loth to flee — 
Not loth with brooks and fells to claim 
Fraternity. 

Linked with his happy youthful lot, 
Is Loughrigg, then, at last forgot? 
Nor silent peak nor dalesman's cot 

Looks on his grave. 
Lulled by the Thames he sleeps, and not 

By Rotha's wave. 

'Tis fittest thus ! for though with skill 
He sang of beck and tarn and ghyll, 
The deep, authentic mountain -thrill 

Ne'er shook his page ! 
Somewhat of worldling mingled still 

With bard and sage. 

And 'twere less meet for him to lie 
Guarded by summits lone and high 
That traflic with the eternal sky 

And hear, unawed, 
The everlasting fingers ply 

The loom of God, 



12 IN LALEHAM CHURCHYARD 

Than, in this hamlet of the plain, 
A less sublime repose to gain, 
Where Nature, genial and urbane, 

To man defers, 
Yielding to us the right to reign. 

Which yet is hers. 

And nigh to where his bones abide. 
The Thames with its unruffled tide 
Seems like his genius typified, — 

Its strength, its grace. 
Its lucid gleam, its sober pride, 

Its tranquil pace. 

But ah ! not his the eventual fate 
Which doth the journeying wave await 
Doomed to resign its limpid state 

And quickly grow 
Turbid as passion, dark as hate, 

And wide as woe. 



Rather, it may be, over-much 

He shunned the common stain and smutch. 

From soilure of ignoble touch 



IN LALEHAM CHURCHYARD 13 

Too grandly free, 
Too loftily secure in such 
Cold purity. 

But he preserved from chance control 

The fortress of his 'stablisht soul ; 

In all things sought to see the Whole ; 

Brooked no disguise ; 
And set his heart upon the goal, 

Not on the prize. 

With those Elect he shall survive 
Who seem not to compete or strive, 
Yet with the foremost still arrive, 

PrevaiHng still : 
Spirits with whom the stars connive 

To work their will. 



And ye, the baffled many, who, 
Dejected, from afar off view 
The easily victorious few 

Of calm renown, — 
Have ye not your sad glory too. 

And mournful crown ? 



14 IN LALEHAM CHURCHYARD 

Great is the facile conqueror ; 
Yet haply he, who, wounded sore, 
Breathless, unhorsed, all covered o'er 

With blood and sweat. 
Sinks foiled, but fighting evermore, — 

Is greater yet. 



THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH 

Youth ! ere thou be flown awayp 
Surely one last boon to-day 

Thou'lt bestow — 
One last light of rapture give, 
Rich and lordly fugitive ! 

Ere thou go. 

What, thou canst not? What, all spent? 
All thy spells of ravishment 

Pow'rless now? 
Gone thy magic out of date ? 
Gone, all gone that made thee great ? — 

Follow thou ! 
15 



"NAY, BID ME NOT MY CARES TO LEAVE" 

Nay, bid me not my cares to leave. 
Who cannot from their shadow flee. 

I do but win a short reprieve, 
'Scaping to pleasure and to thee. 

I may, at best, a moment's grace. 
And grant of liberty, obtain ; 

Respited for a httle space, 
To go back into bonds again. 

i6 



I 



A CHILD'S HAIR 

A LETTER from abroad. I tear 

Its sheathing open, unaware 

What treasure gleams within ; and there — 

Like bird from cage — 
Flutters a curl of golden hair 

Out of the page. 

From such a frolic head 'twas shorn ! 
('Tis but five years since he was born.) 
Not sunlight scampering over corn 

Were merrier thing. 
A child ? A fragment of the morn, 

A piece of Spring ! 

Surely an ampler, fuller day 
Than drapes our English skies with grey — 
A deeper light, a richer ray 
17 



18 A CHILD'S HAIR 

Than here we know — 
To this bright tress have given away 
Their Hving glow. 

For Willie dwells where gentian flowers 
Make mimic sky in mountain bowers ; 
And vineyards steeped in ardent hours 

Slope to the wave 
Where storied Chillon's tragic towers 

Their bases lave ; 

And over piny tracts of Vaud 

The rose of eve steals up the snow ; 

And on the waters far below 

Strange sails like wings 
Half-bodilessly come and go, 

Fantastic things ; 

And tender night falls like a sigh 
On chalet low and chateau high ; 
And the far cataract's voice comes nigh, 

Where no man hears ; 
And spectral peaks impale the sky 

On silver spears. 



A CHILD'S HAIR 19 

Ah, Willie, whose dissevered tress 
Lies in my hand ! — may you possess 
At least one sovereign happiness, 

Ev'n to your grave ; 
One boon than which I ask naught less. 

Naught greater crave : 

May cloud and mountain, lake and vale. 

Never to you be trite or stale 

As unto souls whose wellsprings fail 

Or flow defiled, 
Till Nature's happiest fairy-tale 

Charms not her child ! 



For when the spirit waxes numb, 
Alien and strange these shows become, 
And stricken with life's tedium 

The streams run dry. 
The choric spheres themselves are dumb, 

And dead the sky, — 

Dead as to captives grown supine. 
Chained to their task in sightless mine : 
Above, the bland day smiles benign, 



20 A CHILD'S HAIR 

Birds carol free, 
In thunderous throes of hfe divine 
Leaps the glad sea ; 

But they — their day and night are one. 
What is't to them, that rivulets run. 
Or what concern of theirs the sun ? 

It seems as though 
Their business with these things was done 

Ages ago : 

Only, at times, each dulled heart feels 
That somewhere, sealed with hopeless seals, 
The unmeaning heaven about him reels. 

And he lies hurled 
Beyond the roar of all the wheels 

Of all the world. 



On what strange track one's fancies fare ! 
To eyeless night in sunless lair 
'Tis a far cry from Willie's hair ; 

And here it Hes — 
Human, yet something which can ne'er 

Grow sad and wise : 



A CHILD'S HAIR 21 

Which, when the head where late it lay- 
In life's grey dusk itself is grey, 
And when the curfew of life's day 

By death is tolled, 
Shall forfeit not the auroral ray 

And eastern gold. 



THE KEY-BOARD 

FiVE-AND-THiRTY black slavcs, 

Half-a-hundred white, 
All their duty but to sing 

For their Queen's delight, 
Now with throats of thunder. 

Now with dulcet lips, 
While she rules them royally 

With her finger-tips ! 

When she quits her palace, 

All the slaves are dumb — 
Dumb with dolour till the Queen 

Back to Court is come : 
Dumb the throats of thunder. 

Dumb the dulcet lips, 
Lacking all the sovereignty 

Of her finger-tips. 



THE KEY-BOARD 23 

Dusky slaves and pallid, 

Ebon slaves and white, 
When the Queen was on her throne 

How you sang to-night ! 
Ah, the throats of thunder ! 

Ah, the dulcet Hps ! 
Ah, the gracious tyrannies 

Of her finger-tips ! 

Silent, silent, silent, 

All your voices now ; 
Was it then her life alone 

Did your life endow? 
Waken, throats of thunder ! 

Waken, dulcet lips ! 
Touched to immortality 

By her finger-tips. 



"SCENTLESS FLOW'RS I BRING THEE" 

Scentless flow'rs I bring thee — yet 
In thy bosom be they set ; 
In thy bosom each one grows 
Fragrant beyond any rose. 

Sweet enough were she who could, 
In thy heart's sweet neighbourhood, 
Some redundant sweetness thus 
Borrow from that overplus. 
24 



ON LANDOR'S "HELLENICS" 

Come hither, who grow cloyed to surfeiting 
With lyric draughts o'ersweet, from rills that rise 
On Hybla not Parnassus mountain : come 
With beakers rinsed of the dulcifluous wave 
Hither, and see a magic miracle 
Of happiest science, the bland Attic skies 
True-mirrored by an English well ; — no stream 
Whose heaven-belying surface makes the stars 
Reel, with its restless idiosyncrasy ; 
But well unstirred, save when at times it takes 
Tribute of lover's eyehds, and at times 
Bubbles with laughter of some sprite below. 

25 



TO 

(With a Volume of Epigrams) 

Unto the Lady of The Nook 

Fly, tiny book. 
There thou hast lovers — even thou ! 

Fly thither now. 

Seven years hast thou for honour yearned, 

And scant praise earned ; 
But ah ! to win, at last, such friends, 

Is full amends. 
26 



ON EXAGGERATED DEFERENCE TO 
FOREIGN LITERARY OPINION 

What ! and shall we, with such submissive airs 
As age demands in reverence from the young, 
Await these crumbs of praise from Europe flung, 
And doubt of our own greatness till it bears 
The signet of your Goethes or Voltaires ? 
We who alone in latter times have sung 
With scarce less power than Arno's exiled tongue - 
We who are Milton's kindred, Shakespeare's heirs. 
The prize of lyric victory who shall gain 
If ours be not the laurel, ours the palm ? 
More than the froth and flotsam of the Seine, 
More than your Hugo-flare against the night, 
And more than Weimar's proud elaborate calm. 
One flash of Byron's lightning, Wordsworth's light. 

27 



ENGLAND TO IRELAND 

(February 1888) 

Spouse whom my sword in the olden time won me, 

Winning me hatred more sharp than a sword — 
Mother of children who hiss at or shun me, 

Curse or revile me, and hold me abhorred — 
Heiress of anger that nothing assuages, 

Mad for the future, and mad from the past ^— 
Daughter of all the implacable ages, 

Lo, let us turn and be lovers at last ! 

Lovers whom tragical sin hath made equal, 

One in transgression and one in remorse. 
Bonds may be severed, but what were the sequel? 

Hardly shall amity come of divorce. 
Let the dead Past have a royal entombing. 

O'er it the Future built white for a fane ! 
I that am haughty from much overcoming 

Sue to thee, supphcate — nay, is it vain? 

28 



ENGLAND TO IRELAND 29 

Hate and mistrust are the children of bhndness, — 

Could we but see one another, 'twere well ! 
Knowledge is sympathy, charity, kindness, 

Ignorance only is maker of hell. 
Could we but gaze for an hour, for a minute, 

Deep in each other's unfaltering eyes, 
Love were begun — for that look would begin it — 

Born in the flash of a mighty surprise. 

Then should the ominous night-bird of Error, 

Scared by a sudden irruption of day. 
Flap his maleficent wings, and in terror 

Flit to the wilderness, dropping his prey. 
Then should we, growing in strength and in sweetness, 

Fusing to one indivisible soul. 
Dazzle the world with a splendid completeness, 

Mightily single, immovably whole. 

Thou, like a flame when the stormy winds fan it, 

I, like a rock to the elements bare, — 
Mixed by love's magic, the fire and the granite. 

Who should compete with us, what should compare ? 
Strong with a strength that no fate might dissever. 

One with a oneness no force could divide, 
So were we married and mingled for ever. 

Lover with lover, and bridegroom with bride. 



MENSIS LACRIMARUM 
(March 1885) 

March, that comes roaring, maned, with rampant paws, 

And bleatingly withdraws ; 
March, — 'tis the year's fantastic nondescript. 

That, born when frost hath nipped 
The shivering fields, or tempest scarred the hills. 

Dies crowned with daffodils. 
The month of the renewal of the earth 

By mingled death and birth : 
But, England ! in this latest of thy years 

Call it — the Month of Tears. 

30 



UNDER THE DARK AND PINY STEEP" 

Under the dark and piny steep 
We watched the storm crash by : 

We saw the bright brand leap and leap 
Out of the shattered sky. 

The elements were minist'ring 

To make one mortal blest ; 
For, peal by peal, you did but cling 

The closer to his breast. 
31 



THE BLIND SUMMIT 

[A Viennese gentleman, who had climbed the Hoch-Konig 
without a guide, was found dead, in a sitting posture, near the 
summit, upon which he had written, " It is cold, and clouds shut 
out the view." — Vide the Daily News of September lo, 1891.] 

So mounts the child of ages of desire, 
Man, up the steeps of Thought ; and would behold 
Yet purer peaks, touched with unearthlier fire, 
In sudden prospect virginally new ; 
But on the lone last height he sighs : " 'Tis cold. 
And clouds shut out the view." 

Ah, doom of mortals ! Vexed with phantoms old, 
Old phantoms that waylay us and pursue, — 
Weary of dreams, — we think to see unfold 
The eternal landscape of the Real and True ; 
And on our Pisgah can but write : *' 'Tis cold, 
And clouds shut out the view." 
32 



TO LORD TENNYSON 
(With a Volume of Verse) 

Master and ma.ge, our prince of song, whom Time, 
in this your autumn mellow and serene, 
Crowns ever with fresh laurels, nor less green 

Than garlands dewy from your verdurous prime ; 

Heir of the riches of the whole world's rhyme, 
Dow'r'd with the Doric grace, the Mantuan mien, 
With Arno's depth and Avon's golden sheen ; 

Singer to whom the singing ages climb, 

Convergent ; — if the youngest of the choir 
May snatch a flying splendour from your name 

Making his page illustrious, and aspire 

For one rich moment your regard to claim. 

Suffer him at your feet to lay his lyre 

And touch the skirts and fringes of your fame. 

33 



SKETCH OF A POLITICAL CHARACTER 

(1885) 

There is a race of men, who master life, 
Their victory being inversely as their strife ; 
Who capture by refraining from pursuit ; 
Shake not the bough, yet load their hands with fruit ; 
The earth's high places who attain to fill, 
By most indomitably sitting still. 
While others, full upon the fortress hurled, 
Lay fiery siege to the embattled world, 
Of such rude arts their natures feel no need ; 
Greatly inert, they lazily succeed ; 
Find in the golden mean their proper bliss. 
And doing nothing, never do amiss ; 
But lapt in men's good graces live, and die 
By all regretted, nobody knows why. 

Cast in this fortunate Olympian mould. 
The admirable * * * * behold ; 

34 



SKETCH OF A POLITICAL CHARACTER 35 

Whom naught could dazzle or mislead, unless 

'Twere the wild Hght of fatal cautiousness ; 

Who never takes a step from his own door 

But he looks backward ere he looks before. 

When once he starts, it were too much to say 

He visibly gets farther on his way : 

But all allow, he ponders well his course — 

For future uses hoarding present force. 

The flippant deem him slow and saturnine, 

The summed-up phlegm of that illustrious Hne ; 

But we, his honest adversaries, who 

More highly prize him than his false friends do, 

Frankly admire that simple mass and weight — 

A solid Roman pillar of the State, 

So inharmonious with the baser style 

Of neighbouring columns grafted on the pile. 

So proud and imperturbable and chill, 

Chosen and matched so excellently ill. 

He seems a monument of pensive grace, 

Ah, how pathetically out of place ! 

Would that some call he could not choose but heed — 
Of private passion or of public need — 
At last might sting to life that slothful power, 
And snare him into greatness for an hour ! 



ART MAXIMS 

Often ornateness 
Goes with greatness ; 
Oftener felicity 
Comes of simplicity. 

Talent that's cheapest 
Affects singularity. 
Thoughts that dive deepest 
Rise radiant in clarity. 

Life is rough : 

Sing smoothly, O Bard. 

Enough, enough, 

To have/^^^;/^Hfe hard. 

No record Art keeps 
Of her travail and throes. 
There is toil on the steeps, - 
On the summits, repose. 
36 



THE GLIMPSE 

Just for a day you crossed my life's dull track, 
Put my ignobler dreams to sudden shame, 

Went your bright way, and left me to fall back 
On my own world of poorer deed and aim ; 

To fall back on my meaner world, and feel 

Like one who, dwelling 'mid some smoke-dimmed 
town, — 
In a brief pause of labour's sullen wheel, — 

'Scaped from the street's dead dust and factory's 
frown, — 

In stainless daylight saw the pure seas roll, 
Saw mountains pillaring the perfect sky : 

Then journeyed home, to carry in his soul 
The torment of the difference till he die. 

37 



1 



THE BALLAD OF THE "BRITAIN'S PRIDE" 



It was a skipper of Lowestoft 

That trawled the northern sea, 
In a smack of thrice ten tons and seven, 

And the Britain's Pride was she. 
And the waves were high to windward, 

And the waves were high to lee, 
And he said as he lost his trawl-net, 

"What is to be, will be." 

His craft she reeled and staggered. 

But he headed her for the hithe. 
In a storm that threatened to mow her down 

As grass is mown by the scythe ; 
When suddenly through the cloud-rift 

The moon came sailing soft, 
And he saw one mast of a sunken ship 

Like a dead arm held aloft. 
38 



THE BALLAD OF THE ''BRITAIN'S PRIDE'' 39 

And a voice came faint from the riggino- 

" Help ! help ! " it whispered and sighed — 
And a single form to the sole mast clung, 

In the roaring darkness wide. 
Oh, the crew were but four hands all told, 

On board of the Britain's Pride, 
And ever " Hold on till daybreak ! " 

Across the night they cried. 

Slowly melted the darkness, 

Slowly rose the sun, 
And only the lad in the rigging 

Was left, out of thirty-one. 
To tell the tale of his captain. 

The English sailor true. 
That did his duty and met his death 

As EngHsh sailors do. 

Peace to the gallant spirit. 

The greatly proved and tried. 
And to all who have fed the hungry sea 

That is still unsatisfied ; 
And honour and glory for ever. 

While rolls the unresting tide. 
To the skipper of little Lowestoft, 

And the crew of the Britain's Pride, 



LINES 
(With a Volume of the Author's Poems sent to M. R. C.) 

Go, Verse, nor let the grass of tarrying grow 
Beneath thy feet iambic. Southward go 
O'er Thamesis his stream, nor halt until 
Thou reach the summit of a suburb hill 
To lettered fame not unfamiliar : there 
Crave rest and shelter of a scholiast fair, 
Who dwelleth in a world of old romance, 
Magic emprise and faery chevisaunce. 
Tell her, that he who made thee, years ago, 
By northern stream and mountain, and where blow 
Great breaths from the sea-sunset, at this day 
One half thy fabric fain would rase away ; 
But she must take thee faults and all, my Verse, 
Forgive thy better and forget thy worse. 
Thee, doubtless, she shall place, not scorned, among 
More famous songs by happier minstrels sung ; — 
In Shakespeare's shadow thou shalt find a home, 
Shalt house with melodists of Greece and Rome, 

40 



LINES 41 

Or awed by Dante's wintry presence be, 
Or won by Goethe's regal suavity, 
Or with those masters hardly less adored 
Repose, of Rydal and of Farringford ; 
And — like a mortal rapt from men's abodes 
Into some skyey fastness of the gods — 
Divinely neighboured, thou in such a shrine 
Mayst for a moment dream thyself divine. 



THE RAVEN'S SHADOW 

Seabird, elemental sprite, 

Moulded of the sun and spray — 
Raven, dreary flake of night 

Drifting in the eye of day — 
What in common have ye two, 
Meeting 'twixt the blue and blue ? 

Thou to eastward carriest 

The keen savour of the foam, — 
Thou dost bear unto the west 

Fragrance from thy woody home. 
Where perchance a house is thine 
Odorous of the oozy pine. 

Eastward thee thy proper cares, 
Things of mighty moment, call ; 

Thee to westward thine affairs 
Summon, weighty matters all : 
42 



THE RAVEN'S SHADOW 43 

I, where land and sea contest, 
Watch you eastward, watch you west, 

Till, in snares of fancy caught, 

Mystically changed ye seem. 
And the bird becomes a thought. 

And the thought becomes a dream, 
And the dream, outspread on high. 
Lords it o'er the abject sky. 

Surely I have known before 

Phantoms of the shapes ye be — 

Haunters of another shore 
'Leaguered by another sea. 

There my wanderings night and morn 

Reconcile me to the bourn. 

There the bird of happy wings 

Wafts the ocean-news I crave ; 
Rumours of an isle he brings 

Gemlike on the golden wave : 
But the baleful beak and plume 
Scatter immelodious gloom. 

Though the flow'rs be faultless made, 
Perfectly to live and die — 



44 THE RAVEN'S SHADOW 

Though the bright clouds bloom and fade 

Flow'rlike 'midst a meadowy sky — 
Where this raven roams forlorn 
Veins of midnight flaw the morn. 

He not less will croak and croak 

As he ever caws and caws, 
Till the starry dance he broke, 

Till the sphery psean pause, 
And the universal chime 
Falter out of tune and time. 

Coils the labyrinthine sea 

Duteous to the lunar will, 
But some discord stealthily 

Vexes the world- ditty still, 
And the bird that caws and caws 
Clasps creation with his claws. 



LUX PERDITA 

Thine were the weak, slight hands 
That might have taken this strong soul, and bent 
Its stubborn substance to thy soft intent. 
And bound it unresisting, with such bands 
As not the arm of envious heaven had rent. 

Thine were the calming eyes 
That round my pinnace could have stilled the sea, 
And drawn thy voyager home, and bid him be 
Pure with their pureness, with their wisdom wise, 
Merged in their light, and greatly lost in thee. 

But thou — thou passed'st on. 
With whiteness clothed of dedicated days, 
Cold, like a star ; and me in aUen ways 
Thou leftest following hfe's chance lure, where shone 
The wandering gleam that beckons and betrays. 

45 



ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES 

She stands, a thousand- wintered tree, 

By countless morns impearled ; 
Her broad roots coil beneath the sea, 

Her branches sweep the world ; 
Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed, 

Clothe the remotest strand 
With forests from her scatterings made, 
New nations fostered in her shade, 

And linking land with land. 

O ye by wandering tempest sown 

'Neath every alien star, 
Forget not whence the breath was blown 

That wafted you afar ! 
For ye are still her ancient seed 

On younger soil let fall — 
Children of Britain's island-breed, 
To whom the Mother in her need 

Perchance may one day call. 
46 



HISTORY 

Here, peradventure, in this mirror glassed, 
Who gazes long and well at times beholds 
Some sunken feature of the mummied Past, 
But oftener only the embroidered folds 
And soiled magnificence of her rent robe 
Whose tattered skirts are ruined dynasties 
That sweep the dust of seons in our eyes 
And with their trailing pride cumber the globe. 
For lo ! the high, imperial Past is dead : 
The air is full of its dissolved bones ; 
Invincible armies long since vanquished. 
Kings that remember not their awful thrones, 
Powerless potentates and foolish sages, 
Impede the slow steps of the pompous ages. 

47 



THE EMPTY NEST 

I SAUNTER all about the pleasant place 

You made thrice pleasant, O my friends, to me ; 
But you are gone where laughs in radiant grace 

That thousand-memoried unimpulsive sea. 
To storied precincts of the southern foam, 

Dear birds of passage, ye have taken wing. 
And ah ! for me, when April wafts you home, 

The spring will more than ever be the spring 
Still lovely, as of old, this haunted ground ; 

Tenderly, still, the autumn sunshine falls ; 
And gorgeously the woodlands tower around, 

Freak'd with wild light at golden intervals : 
Yet, for the ache your absence leaves, O friends. 
Earth's lifeless pageantries are poor amends. 



IRELAND 
(December i, 1890) 

In the wild and lurid desert, in the thunder-travelled 

ways, 
'Neath the night that ever hurries to the dawn that 

still delays, 

There she clutches at illusions, and she seeks a 
phantom goal 

With the unattaining passion that consumes the un 
sleeping soul : 

And calamity enfolds her, like the shadow of a ban, 

And the niggardness of Nature makes the misery of 
man : 

And in vain the hand is stretched to lift her, stum- 
bling in the gloom. 

While she follows the mad fen-fire that conducts her 
to her doom. 

49 



THE LUTE-PLAYER 

She was a lady great and splendid, 

I was a minstrel in her halls. 
A warrior like a prince attended 

Stayed his steed by the castle walls. 

Far had he fared to gaze upon her. 

"O rest thee now, Sir Knight," she said. 
The warrior wooed, the warrior won her. 

In time of snowdrops they were wed. 
I made sweet music in his honour. 

And longed to strike him dead. 

I passed at midnight from her portal. 
Throughout the world till death I rove : 

Ah, let me make this lute immortal 
With rapture of my hate and love ! 

50 



"AND THESE — ARE THESE INDEED THE 

END" 

i» 

And these — are these indeed the end, 
This grinning skull, this heavy loam ? 

Do all green ways whereby we wend 
Lead but to yon ignoble home ? 

Ah well ! Thine eyes invite to bliss ; 

Thy lips are hives of summer still. 
I ask not other worlds while this 

Proffers me all the sweets I will, 

51 



THE RUSS AT KARA 

O King of kings, that watching from Thy throne 
Sufferest the monster of Ust-Kara's hold, 
With bosom than Siberia's wastes more cold, 
And hear'st the wail of captives crushed and prone, 
And sett'st no sign in heaven ! Shall naught atone 
For their wild pangs whose tale is yet scarce told, 
Women by uttermost woe made deadly bold. 
In the far dungeon's night that hid their moan? 
Why waits Thy shattering arm, nor smites this Power 
Whose beak and talons rend the unshielded breast, 
Whose wings shed terror and a plague of gloom, 
Whose ravin is the hearts of the oppressed ; 
Whose brood are hell-births — Hate that bides its hour, 
Wrath, and a people's curse that loathe their 
doom? 

52 



LIBERTY REJECTED 

About this heart thou hast 
Thy chains made fast, 

And think'st thou I would be 
Therefrom set free, 

And forth unbound be cast? 

The ocean would as soon 

Entreat the moon 
Unsay the magic verse 

That seals him hers 
From silver noon to noon. 

She stooped her pearly head 

Seaward, and said : 
" Would'st thou I gave to thee 

Thy liberty, 
In Time's youth forfeited ? " 

53 



54 LIBERTY REJECTED 

And from his inmost hold 
The answer rolled : 

" Thy bondman to remain 
Is sweeter pain, 

Dearer an hundredfold." 



LIFE WITHOUT HEALTH 

Behold life builded as a goodly house 
And grown a mansion ruinous 
With winter blowing through its crumbling walls ! 
The master paceth up and down his halls, 
And in the empty hours 
Can hear the tottering of his towers 
And tremor of their bases underground. 
And oft he starts and looks around 
At creaking of a distant door 
Or echo of his footfall on the floor, 
Thinking it may be one whom he awaits 
And hath for many days awaited, 
Coming to lead him through the mouldering gates 
Out somewhere, from his home dilapidated. 
55 



TO A FRIEND 

Chafing at enforced Idleness from interrupted Health 

Soon may the edict lapse, that on you lays 
This dire compulsion of infertile days, 
This hardest penal toil, reluctant rest ! 
Meanwhile I count you eminently blest, 
Happy from labours heretofore well done, 
Happy in tasks auspiciously begun. 
For they are blest that have not much to rue — 
That have not oft mis-heard the prompter's cue, 
Stammered and stumbled and the wrong parts played, 
And life a Tragedy of Errors made. 

56 



"WELL HE SLUMBERS, GREATLY SLAIN" 

Well he slumbers, greatly slain, 
Who in splendid battle dies ; 

Deep his sleep in midmost main 
Pillowed upon pearl who lies. 

Ease, of all good gifts the best. 
War and wave at last decree : 

Love alone denies us rest. 
Crueller than sword or sea. 
57 



AN EPISTLE 

(To N. A.) 

So, into Cornwall you go down, 
And leave me loitering here in town. 
For me, the ebb of London's wave, 
Not ocean-thunder in Cornish cave. 
My friends (save only one or two) 
Gone to the glistening marge, like you, — 
The opera season with blare and din 
Dying sublime in Lohengrin, — 
Houses darkened, whose blinded panes 
All thoughts, save of the dead, preclude, 
The parks a puddle of tropic rains, — 
Clubland a pensive solitude, — 
For me, now you and yours are flown, 
The fellowship of books alone ! 

For you, the snaky wave, upflung 
With writhing head and hissing tongue ; 
SS 



AN EPISTLE 59 

The weed whose tangled fibres tell 

Of some inviolate deep-sea dell ; 

The faultless, secret-chanjbered shell, 

Whose sound is an epitome 

Of all the utterance of the sea ; 

Great, basking, twinkhng wastes of brine ; 

Far clouds of gulls that wheel and swerve 

In unanimity divine, 

With undulation serpentine, 

And wondrous, consentaneous curve, 

Flashing in sudden silver sheen, 

Then melting on the sky-line keen ; 

The world-forgotten coves that seem 

Lapt in some magic old sea-dream, 

Where, shivering off the milk-white foam. 

Lost airs wander, seeking home, 

And into clefts and caverns peep. 

Fissures paven with powdered shell, 

Recesses of primeval sleep, 

Tranced with an immemorial spell; 

The granite fangs eternally 

Rending the blanch'd lips of the sea ; 

The breaker clutching land, then hurled 

Back on its own tormented world ; 

The mountainous upthunderings, 

The glorious energy of things. 



60 AN EPISTLE 

The power, the joy, the cosmic thrill, 
Earth's ecstasy made visible, 
World-rapture old as Night and new 
As sunrise j — this, all this, for you ! 

So, by Atlantic breezes fanned, 
You roam the limits of the land. 
And I in London's world abide. 
Poor flotsam on the human tide ! — 
Nay, rather, isled amid the stream — 
Watching the flood — and, half in dream 
Guessing the sources whence it rose. 
And musing to what Deep it flows. 

For still the ancient riddles mar 
Our joy in man, in leaf, in star. 
The Whence and Whither give no rest, 
The Wherefore is a hopeless quest ; 
And the dull wight who never thinks, — 
Who, chancing on the sleeping Sphinx, 
Passes unchallenged, — fares the best ! 

But ill it suits this random verse 
The high enigmas to rehearse. 
And touch with desultory tongue 
Secrets no man from Night hath wrung. 



AN EPISTLE 61 

We ponder, question, doubt — and pray 
The Deep to answer Yea or Nay ; 
And what does the engirdhng wave, 
The undivulging, yield us, save 
Aspersion of bewildering spray? 
We do but dally on the beach, 
Writing our little thoughts full large, 
While Ocean with imperious speech 
Derides us trifling by the marge. 
Nay, we are children, who all day 
Beside the unknown waters play. 
And dig with small toy-spade the sand, 
Thinking our trenches wondrous deep. 
Till twilight falls, and hand-in-hand 
Nurse takes us home, well tired, to sleep ; 
Sleep, and forget our toys, and be 
Lulled by the great unsleeping sea. 

Enough ! — to Cornwall you go down. 
And I tag rhymes in London town. 



TO AUSTIN DOBSON 

Yes ! urban is your Muse, and owns 
An empire based on London stones ; 
Yet flow'rs, as mountain violets sweet, 
Spring from the pavement 'neath her feet 

Of wilder birth this Muse of mine, 
Hill-cradled, and baptized with brine ; 
And 'tis for her a sweet despair 
To watch that courtly step and air ! 

Yet surely she, without reproof, 
Greeting may send from realms aloof, 
And even claim a tie in blood, 
And dare to deem it sisterhood. 

For well we know, those Maidens be 
All daughters of Mnemosyne ; 
And 'neath the unifying sun, 
Many the songs — but Song is one. 
62 



TO EDWARD CLODD 

Friend, in whose friendship I am twice well-starred, 
A debt not time may cancel is your due ; 
For was it not your praise that earliest drew, 

On me obscure, that chivalrous regard, 

Ev'n his, who, knowing fame's first steep how hard, 
With generous lips no faltering clarion blew, 
Bidding men hearken to a lyre by few 

Heeded, nor grudge the bay to one more bard? 

Bitter the task, year by inglorious year. 

Of suitor at the world's reluctant ear. 
One cannot sing for ever, hke a bird. 

For sole dehght of singing ! Him his mate 

Suffices, listening with a heart elate ; 

Nor more his joy, if all the rapt heav'n heard. 

63 



TO EDWARD DOWDEN 

On receiving from Him a Copy of " The Life of Shelley " 

First, ere I slake my hunger, let me thank ' 
The giver of the feast. For feast it is, 
Though of ethereal, translunary fare — 
His story who pre-eminently of men 
Seemed nourished upon starbeams and the stuff 
Of rainbows, and the tempest, and the foam ; 
Who hardly brooked on his impatient soul 
The fleshly trammels ; whom at last the sea 
Gave to the fire, from whose wild arms the winds 
Took him, and shook him broadcast to the world. 
In my young days of fervid poesy 
He drew me to him with his strange far light, — 
He held me in a world all clouds and gleams. 
And vasty phantoms, where ev'n Man himself 
Moved like a phantom 'mid the clouds and gleams. 
Anon the Earth recalled me, and a voice 
Murmuring of dethroned divinities 

64 



TO EDWARD DO WD EN 65 

And dead times deathless upon sculptured urn — 

And Philomela's long- descended pain 

Flooding the night — and maidens of romance 

To whom asleep St. Agnes' love-dreams come — 

Awhile constrained me to a sweet duresse 

And thraldom, lapping me in high content, 

Soft as the bondage of white amorous arms. 

And then a third voice, long unheeded — held 

Claustral and cold, and dissonant and tame — 

Found me at last with ears to hear. It sang 

Of lowly sorrows and familiar joys, 

Of simple manhood, artless womanhood, 

And childhood fragrant as the hmpid morn ; 

And from the homely matter nigh at hand 

Ascending and dilating, it disclosed 

Spaces and avenues, calm heights and breadths 

Of vision, whence I saw each blade of grass 

With roots that groped about eternity. 

And in each drop of dew upon each blade 

The mirror of the inseparable All. 

The first voice, then the second, in their turns 

Had sung me captive. This voice sang me free. 

Therefore, above all vocal sons of men. 

Since him whose sightless eyes saw hell and heaven. 

To Wordsworth be my homage, thanks, and love. 

Yet dear is Keats, a lucid presence, great 



66 TO EDWARD DOWDEN 

With somewhat of a glorious soullessness. 

And dear, and great with an excess of soul, 

Shelley, the hectic flamelike rose of verse, 

All colour, and all odour, and all bloom. 

Steeped in the noonhght, glutted with the sun. 

But somewhat lacking root in homely earth, 

Lacking such human moisture as bedews 

His not less starward stem of song, who, rapt 

Not less in glowing vision, yet retained 

His clasp of the prehensible, retained 

The warm touch of the world that lies to hand. 

Not in vague dreams of man forgetting men, 

Nor in vast morrows losing the to-day ; 

Who trusted nature, trusted fate, nor found 

An Ogre, sovereign on the throne of things ; 

Who felt the incumbence of the unknown, yet bore 

Without resentment the Divine reserve ; 

Who suffered not his spirit to dash itself 

Against the crags and wavelike break in spray, 

But 'midst the infinite tranquillities 

Moved tranquil, and henceforth, by Rotha stream 

And Rydal's mountain- mirror, and where flows 

Yarrow thrice sung or Duddon to the sea. 

And wheresoe'er man's heart is thrilled by tones 

Struck from man's lyric heartstrings, shall survive. 



FELICITY 

A SQUALID, hideous town, where streams run black 

With vomit of a hundred roaring mills, — 

Hither occasion calls me ; and ev'n here, 

All in the sable reek that wantonly 

Defames the sunlight and deflowers the morn, 

One may at least surmise the sky still blue. 

Ev'n here, the myriad slaves of the machine 

Deem life a boon ; and here, in days far sped, 

I overheard a kind-eyed girl relate 

To her companions, how a favouring chance 

By some few shillings weekly had increased 

The earnings of her household, and she said : 

" So now we are happy, having all we wished," — 

Felicity indeed ! though more it lay 

In wanting little than in winning all. 

Felicity indeed ! Across the years 
To me her tones come back, rebuking ; me. 
Spreader of toils to snare the wandering Joy 

67 



68 FELICITY 

No guile may capture and no force surprise — 
Only by them that never wooed her, won. 

O curst with wide desires and spacious dreams, 

Too cunningly do ye accumulate 

Appliances and means of happiness. 

E'er to be happy ! Lavish hosts, ye make 

Elaborate preparation to receive 

A shy and simple guest, who, warned of all 

The ceremony and circumstance wherewith 

Ye mean to entertain her, will not come. 



VER TENEBROSUM 

SONNETS OF MARCH AND APRIL 1885 



I 

The Soudanese 

They wrong'd not us, nor sought 'gainst us to wage 
The bitter battle. On their God they cried 
For succour, deeming justice to abide 
In heaven, if banish'd from earth's vicinage. 
And when they rose with a gall'd hon's rage, 
We, on the captor's, keeper's, tamer's side, 
We, with the alien tyranny allied. 
We bade them back to their Egyptian cage. 
Scarce knew they who we were ! A wind of bhght 
From the mysterious far north-west we came. 
Our greatness now their veriest babes have learn'd. 
Where, in wild desert homes, by day, by night, 
Thousands that weep their warriors unreturn'd, 
O England, O my country, curse thy name ! 

71 



72 VER TENEBROSUM 



II 

Hasheen 

" Of British arms, another victory ! " 

Triumphant words, through all the land's length sped. 

Triumphant words, but, being interpreted. 

Words of ill sound, woful as words can be. 

Another carnage by the drear Red Sea — 

Another efflux of a sea more red ! 

Another bruising of the hapless head 

Of a wrong'd people yearning to be free. 

Another blot on her great name, who stands 

Confounded, left intolerably alone 

With the dilating spectre of her own 

Dark sin, uprisen from yonder spectral sands : 

Penitent more than to herself is known ; 

England, appall'd by her own crimson hands. 



VER TENEBROSUM 73 



III 

The English Dead 

Give honour to our heroes fall'n, how ill 
Soe'er the cause that bade them forth to die. 
Honour to him, the untimely struck, whom high 
In place, more high in hope, 'twas fate's harsh will 
With tedious pain unsplendidly to kill. 
Honour to him, doom'd splendidly to die, 
Child of the city whose foster-child am I, 
Who, hotly leading up the ensanguin'd hill 
His charging thousand, fell without a word — 
Fell, but shall fall not from our memory. 
Also for them let honour's voice be heard 
Who nameless sleep, while dull time covereth 
With no illustrious shade of laurel tree, 
But with the poppy alone, their deeds and death. 



74 VER TENEBKOSUM 



IV 

Gordon 

Idle although our homage be and vain, 
Who loudly through the door of silence press 
And vie in zeal to crown death's nakedness, 
Not therefore shall melodious lips refrain 
Thy praises, gentlest warrior without stain, 
Denied the happy garland of success, 
Foil'd by dark fate, but glorious none the less, 
Greatest of losers, on the lone peak slain 
Of Alp-like virtue. Not to-day, and not 
To-morrow, shall thy spirit's splendour be 
Oblivion's victim ; but when God shall find 
All human grandeur among men forgot. 
Then only shall the world, grown old and blind. 
Cease, in her dotage, to remember Thee. 



VER TENEBROSUM 75 



V 

Gordon {concluded) 

Arab, Egyptian, English — by the sword 

Cloven, or pierced with spears, or bullet-mown — 

In equal fate they sleep : their dust is grown 

A portion of the fiery sands abhorred. 

And thou, what hast thou, hero, for reward. 

Thou, England's glory and her shame? O'erthrown 

Thou liest, unburied, or with grave unknown 

As his to whom on Nebo's height the Lord 

Showed all the land of Gilead, unto Dan ; 

Judah sea-fringed ; Manasseh and Ephraim ; 

And Jericho palmy, to where Zoar lay ; 

And in a valley of Moab buried him, 

Over against Beth-Peor, but no man 

Knows of his sepulchre unto this day. 



76 VER TENEBROSUM 



VI 

The True Patriotism 

The ever-lustrous name of patriot 
To no man be denied because he saw- 
Where in his country's wholeness lay the flaw, 
VVhere, on her whiteness, the unseemly blot. 
England ! thy loyal sons condemn thee. — What ! 
Shall we be meek who from thine own breasts draw 
Our fierceness ? Not ev'n thou shalt overawe 
Us thy proud children nowise basely got. 
Be this the measure of our loyalty — 
To feel thee noble and weep thy lapse the more. 
This truth by thy true servants is confess'd — 
Thy sins, who love thee most, do most deplore. 
Know thou thy faithful ! Best they honour thee 
Who honour in thee only what is best. 



VER TENEBROSUM 77 



VII 

Restored Allegiance 

Dark is thy trespass, deep be thy remorse, 

O England ! Fittingly thine own feet bleed, 

Submissive to the purblind guides that lead 

Thy weary steps along this rugged course. 

Yet . . . when I glance abroad, and track the source 

More selfish far, of other nations' deed, 

And mark their tortuous craft, their jealous greed. 

Their serpent-wisdom or mere soulless force, 

Homeward returns my vagrant fealty, 

Crying, " O England, shouldst thou one day fall, 

Shatter'd in ruins by some Titan foe. 

Justice were thenceforth weaker throughout all 

The world, and Truth less passionately free. 

And God the poorer for thine overthrow." 



78 VER TENEBROSUM 



VIII 

The Political Luminary 

A SKILFUL leech, so long as we were whole : 
Who scann'd the nation's every outward part, 
But ah ! misheard the beating of its heart. 
Sire of huge sorrows, yet erect of soul. 
Swift rider with calamity for goal, 
Who, overtasking his equestrian art, 
Unstall'd a steed full willing for the start, 
But wondrous hard to curb or to control. 
Sometimes we thought he led the people forth 
Anon he seemed to follow where they flew ; 
Lord of the golden tongue and smiting eyes ; 
Great out of season, and untimely wise : 
A man whose virtue, genius, grandeur, worth 
Wrought deadlier ill than ages can undo. 



VER TENEBROSUM 79 



IX 

Foreign Menace 

I MARVEL that this land, whereof I claim 

The glory of sonship — for it was erewhile 

A glory to be sprung of Britain's isle, 

Though now it well-nigh more resembles shame - 

I marvel that this land with heart so tame 

Can brook the northern insolence and guile. 

But most it angers me, to think how vile 

Art thou, how base, from whom the insult came, 

Un wieldly laggard, many an age behind 

Thy sister Powers, in brain and conscience both ; 

In recognition of man's widening mind 

And flexile adaptation to its growth : 

Brute bulk, that bearest on thy back, half loth. 

One wretched man, most pitied of mankind. 



80 VER TENEBROSUM 



X 

HOME-ROOTEDNESS 

I CANNOT boast myself cosmopolite ; 
I own to "■ insularity," although 
'Tis fall'n from fashion, as full well I know. 
For somehow, being a plain and simple wight, 
I am skin-deep a child of the new light, 
But chiefly am mere Enghshman below, 
Of island-fostering ; and can hate a foe. 
And trust my kin before the Muscovite. 
Whom shall I trust if not my kin ? And whom 
Account so near in natural bonds as these 
Born of my mother England's mighty womb, 
Nursed on my mother England's mighty knees, 
And lull'd as I was lull'd in glory and gloom 
With cradle-song of her protecting seas? 



VER TENEBROSUM 81 



XI 

Our Eastern Treasure 

In cobwebb'd corners dusty and dim I hear 
A thin voice pipingly revived of late, 
Which saith our India is a cumbrous weight, 
An idle decoration, bought too dear. 
The wiser world contemns not gorgeous gear ; 
Just pride is no mean factor in a State ; 
The sense of greatness keeps a nation great ; 
And mighty they who mighty can appear. 
It may be that if hands of greed could steal 
From England's grasp the envied orient prize. 
This tide of gold would flood her still as now : 
But were she the same England, made to feel 
A brightness gone from out those starry eyes, 
A splendour from that constellated brow? 



82 VER TENEBROSUM 



XII 

Reported Concessions 

So we must palter, falter, cringe, and shrink. 
And when the bully threatens, crouch or fly. — 
There are who tell me with a shuddering eye 
That war's red cup is Satan's chosen drink. 
Who shall gainsay them? Verily I do think 
War is as hateful almost, and well-nigh 
As ghastly, as this terrible Peace whereby 
We halt for ever on the crater's brink 
And feed the wind with phrases, while we know 
There gapes at hand the infernal precipice 
O'er which a gossamer bridge of words we throw, 
Yet cannot choose but hear from the abyss 
The sulphurous gloom's unfathomable hiss 
And simmering lava's subterranean flow. 



VER TENEBROSUM 83 



XIII 

Nightmare 

( Written during appa7'ent imminence of war^ 

In a false dream I saw the Foe prevail. 
The war was ended ; the last smoke had rolled 
Away : and we, erewhile the strong and bold, 
Stood broken, humbled, withered, weak and pale,. 
And moan'd, " Our greatness is become a tale 
To tell our children's babes when we are old. 
They shall put by their playthings to be told 
How England once, before the years of bale. 
Throned above trembhng, puissant, grandiose, calm, 
Held Asia's richest jewel in her palm ; 
And with unnumbered isles barbaric, she 
The broad hem of her glistering robe impearl'd ; 
Then, when she wound her arms about the world, 
And had for vassal the obsequious sea." 



84 VEK TENEBROSUM 



XIV 

Last Word : to the Colonies 

Brothers beyond the Atlantic's loud expanse ; 
And you that rear the innumerable fleece 
Far southward 'mid the ocean named of peace ; 
Britons that past the Indian wave advance 
Our name and spirit and world-predominance j 
And you our kin that reap the earth's increase 
Where crawls that long- backed mountain till it cease 
Crown'd with the headland of bright esperance : — 
Remote compatriots wheresoe'er ye dwell, 
By your prompt voices ringing clear and true 
We know that with our England all is well : 
Young is she yet, her world-task but begun ! 
By you we know her safe, and know by you 
Her veins are milhon but her heart is one. 



EPIGRAMS 



EPIGRAMS 

'Tis human fortune's happiest height to be 
A spirit melodious, lucid, poised, and whole ; 

Second in order of felicity 

I hold it, to have walk'd with such a soul. 



The statue — Buonarroti said — doth wait, 
Thrall'd in the block, for me to emancipate. 
The poem — saith the poet — wanders free 
Till I betray it to captivity. 



To keep in sight Perfection, and adore 
The vision, is the artist's best dehght ; 

His bitterest pang, that he can ne'er do more 
Than keep her long'd-for loveliness in sight. 
87 



88 EPIGRAMS 

If Nature be a phantasm, as thou say'st, 
A splendid fiction and prodigious dream, 

To reach the real and true I'll make no haste, 
More than content with worlds that only seem. 



The Poet gathers fruit from every tree, 
Yea, grapes from thorns and figs from thistles he. 
Pluck'd by his hand, the basest weed that grows 
Towers to a lily, reddens to a rose. 



Brook, from whose bridge the wandering idler peers 
To watch thy small fish dart or cool floor shine, 

I would that bridge whose arches all are years 
Spann'd not a less transparent wave than thine ! 



To Art we go as to a well, athirst, 

And see our shadow 'gainst its mimic skies. 
But in its depth must plunge and be immersed 

To clasp the naiad Truth where low she lies. 



In youth the artist voweth lover's vows 
To Art, in manhood maketh her his spouse. 
Well if her charms yet hold for him such joy 
As when he craved some boon and she was coy ! 



EPIGRAMS 89 

Immured in sense, with fivefold bonds confined, 
Rest we content if whispers from the stars 

In waftings of the incalculable wind 

Come blown at midnight through our prison-bars. 



Love, like a bird, hath perch'd upon a spray 
For thee and me to hearken what he sings. 

Contented, he forgets to fly away ; 

But hush ! . . . remind not Eros of his wings. 



Think not thy wisdom can illume away 
The ancient tanglement of night and day. 
Enough, to acknowledge both, and both revere : 
They see not clearliest who see all things clear. 



In mid whirl of the dance of Time ye start. 
Start at the cold touch of Eternity, 

And cast your cloaks about you, and depart : 
The minstrels pause not in their minstrelsy. 



The beasts in field are glad, and have not wit 

To know why leapt their hearts when springtime shone. 

Man looks at his own bliss, considers it. 

Weighs it with curious fingers ; and 'tis gone. 



90 EPIGRAMS 

Momentous to himself as I to me 

Hath each man been that ever woman bore ; 
Once, in a lightning-flash of sympathy, 

\felt this truth, an instant, and no more. 



The gods man makes he breaks ; proclaims them each 
Immortal, and himself outlives them all : 

But whom he set not up he cannot reach 

To shake His cloud-dark sun-bright pedestal. 



The children romp within the graveyard's pale ; 
The lark sings o'er a madhouse, or a gaol ; — 
Such nice antitheses of perfect poise 
Chance in her curious rhetoric employs. 



Our lithe thoughts gambol close to God's abyss. 
Children whose home is by the precipice. 
Fear not thy little ones shall o'er it fall : 
Solid, though viewless, is the girdling wall. 



Lives there whom pain hath evermore pass'd by 
And Sorrow shunn'd with an averted eye ? 
Him do thou pity, him above the rest. 
Him of all hapless mortals most unbless'd. 



EPIGRAMS 91 



Say what thou wilt, the young are happy never. 
Give me bless'd Age, beyond the fire and fever, 
Past the dehght that shatters, hope that stings, 
And eager flutt'ring of Ufe's ignorant wings. 



Onward the chariot of the Untarrying moves ; 

Nor day divulges him nor night conceals ; 
Thou hear'st the echo of unreturning hooves 

And thunder of irrevocable wheels. 



A DEFT musician does the breeze become 
Whenever an ^oHan harp it finds : 

Hornpipe and hurdygurdy both are dumb 
Unto the most musicianly of winds. 



I FOLLOW Beauty ; of her train am I : 

Beauty whose voice is earth and sea and air; 

Who serveth, and her hands for all things ply ; 
Who reigneth, and her throne is everywhere. 



Toiling and yearning, 'tis man's doom to see 
No perfect creature fashion'd of his hands. 

Insulted by a flower's immaculacy, 

And mock'd at by the flawless stars he stands. 



92 EPIGRAMS 

For metaphors of man we search the skies, 
And find our allegory in all the air. 

We gaze on Nature with Narcissus-eyes, 
Enamour'd of our shadow everywhere. 



One music maketh its occult abode 

In all things scatter' d from great Beauty's hand ; 
And evermore the deepest words of God 

Are yet the easiest to understand. 



Enough of mournful melodies, my lute ! 
Be henceforth joyous, or be henceforth mute. 
Song's breath is wasted when it does but fan 
The smouldering infelicity of man. 



I pluck'd this flower, O brighter flower, for thee, 
There where the river dies into the sea. 
To kiss it the wild west wind hath made free : 
Kiss it thyself and give it back to me. 



To be as this old elm full loth were I, 

That shakes in the autumn storm its palsied head. 
Hewn by the weird last woodman let me He 

Ere the path rustle with my foliage shed. 



EPIGRAMS ■ 93 

Ah, vain, thrice vain in the end, thy hate and rage, 
And the shrill tempest of thy clamorous page. 
True poets but transcendent lovers be. 
And one great love-confession poesy. 



His rhymes the poet flings at all men's feet, 
And whoso will may trample on his rhymes. 

Should Time let die a song that's true and sweet. 
The singer's loss were more than match'd by Time's. 



On Longfellow's Death 

No puissant singer he, whose silence grieves 

To-day the great West's tender heart and strong ; 

No singer vast of voice : yet one who leaves 
His native air the sweeter for his song. 



Byron the Voluptuary 

Too avid of earth's bliss, he was of those 

Whom Delight flies because they give her chase. 

Only the odour of her wild hair blows 

Back in their faces hungering for her face. 



94 ' EPIGRAMS 



Antony at Actium 



He holds a dubious balance : — yet that scale, 
Whose freight the world is, surely shall prevail? 
No ; Cleopatra droppeth into this 
One counterpoising orient sultry kiss. 



Art 

The thousand painful steps at last are trod, 
At last the temple's difficult door we win ; 

But perfect on his pedestal, the god 
Freezes us hopeless when we enter in. 



Keats 

He dwelt with the bright gods of elder time. 
On earth and in their cloudy haunts above. 

He loved them : and in recompense sublime. 
The gods, alas ! gave him their fatal love. 



After reading " Tamburlaine the Great " 

Your Marlowe's page I close, my Shakspere's ope. 

How welcome — after gong and cymbal's din — 
The continuity, the long slow slope 

And vast curves of the gradual violin ! 



EPIGRAMS 95 

Shelley and Harriet Westbrook 

A star look'd down from heaven and loved a flower 
Grown in earth's garden — loved it for an hour : 

Let eyes that trace his orbit in the spheres 
Refuse not, to a ruin'd rosebud, tears. 



The Play of "King Lear" 

Here Love the slain with Love the slayer Hes ; 

Deep drown'd are both in the same sunless pool. 
Up from its depths that mirror thundering skies 

Bubbles the wan mirth of the mirthless Fool. 



To A Poet 



Time, the extortioner, from richest beauty 
Takes heavy toll and wrings rapacious duty. 
Austere of feature if thou carve thy rhyme, 
Perchance 'twill pay the lesser tax to Time. 



The Year's Minstrelsy 

Spring, the low prelude of a lordlier song : 
Summer, a music without hint of death : 

Autumn, a cadence lingeringly long : 

Winter, a pause ; — the Minstrel-Year takes breath. 



96 EPIGRAMS 

The Ruined Abbey 

Flower- FONDLED, clasp'd in ivy's close caress, 
It seems allied with Nature, yet apart : — 

Of wood's and wave's insensate loveliness 

The glad, sad, tranquil, passionate, human heart. 



Michelangelo's " Moses " 

The captain's might, and mystery of the seer — 
Remoteness of Jehovah's colloquist, 

Nearness of man's heaven-advocate — are here : 
Alone Mount Nebo's harsh foreshadow is miss'd. 



The Alps 



Adieu, white brows of Europe ! sovereign brows. 
That wear the sunset for a golden tiar. 

With me in memory shall your phantoms house 
For ever, whiter than yourselves, and higher. 



The Cathedral Spire 

It soars hke hearts of hapless men who dare 
To sue for gifts the gods refuse to allot ; 

Who climb for ever toward they know not where. 
Baffled for ever by they know not what. 



EPIGRAMS 



97 



An Epitaph 

His friends he loved. His fellest earthly foes — 
Cats — I believe he did but feign to hate. 

My hand will miss the insinuated nose, 

Mine eyes the tail that wagg'd contempt at Fate. 



The Metropolitan Underground Railway 

Here were a goodly place wherein to die ; 

Grown latterly to sudden change averse, 
All violent contrasts fain avoid would I 

On passing from this world into a worse. 

To a Seabird 

Fain would I have thee barter fates with me, — 
Lone loiterer where the shells like jewels be, 
Hung on the fringe and frayed hem of the sea. 
But no, — 'twere cruel, wild-wing'd Bliss ! to thee. 



On Durer's Melencolia 
What holds her fixed far eyes nor lets them range? 
Not the strange sea, strange earth, or heav'n more 

strange ; 
But her own phantom dwarfing these great three, 
More strange than all, more old than heav'n, earth, sea. 



98 EPIGRAMS 

Tantalus 

He wooes for ever, with foil'd lips of drouth, 
The wave that wearies not to mock his mouth. 
'Tis Lethe's ; they alone that tide have quaff 'd 
Who never thirsted for the oblivious draught. 



A Maiden's Epitaph 

She dwelt among us till the flowers, 'tis said. 
Grew jealous of her : with precipitate feet, 

As loth to wrong them unawares, she fled. 

Earth is less fragrant now, and heaven more sweet. 



WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 



TO JAMES BROMLEY 

With " Wordsworth's Grave " 

Ere vandal lords with lust of gold accurst 

Deface each hallowed hillside we revere — 
Ere cities in their million-throated thirst 

Menace each sacred mere — 
Let us give thanks because one nook hath been 

Unflooded yet by desecration's wave, 
The little churchyard in the valley green 

That holds our Wordsworth's grave. 

'Twas there I plucked these elegiac blooms, 

There where he rests 'mid comrades fit and few, 
And thence I bring this growth of classic tombs. 

An offering, friend, to you — 
You who have loved like me his simple themes. 

Loved his sincere large accent nobly plain, 
And loved the land whose mountains and whose 
streams 

Are lovelier for his strain. 



102 TO JAMES BROMLEY 

It may be that his manly chant, beside 

More dainty numbers, seems a rustic tune j 
It may be, thought has broadened since he died 

Upon the century's noon ; 
It may be that we can no longer share 

The faith which from his fathers he received ; 
It may be that our doom is to despair 

Where he with joy believed ; — 

Enough that there is none since risen who sings 

A song so gotten of the immediate soul, 
So instant from the vital fount of things 

Which is our source and goal ; 
And though at touch of later hands there float 

More artful tones than from his lyre he drew, 
Ages may pass ere trills another note 

So sweet, so great, so true. 



WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 



The old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here ; 

Beneath its shadow high-born Rotha flows ; 
Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near, 

And with cool murmur lulHng his repose 

Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near. 

His hills, his lakes, his streams are with him yet. 
Surely the heart that read her own heart clear 

Nature forgets not soon : 'tis we forget. 

We that with vagrant soul his fixity 

Have shghted ; faithless, done his deep faith wrong ; 
Left him for poorer loves, and bowed the knee 

To misbegotten strange new gods of song. 

Yet, led by hollow ghost or beckoning elf 
Far from her homestead to the desert bourn, 

The vagrant soul returning to herself 
Wearily wise, must needs to him return. 



104 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 

To him and to the powers that with him dwell : — 
Inflowings that divulged not whence they came ; 

And that secluded spirit unknowable, 

The mystery we make darker with a name j 

The Somewhat which we name but cannot know, 
Ev'n as we name a star and only see 

His quenchless flashings forth, which ever show 
And ever hide him, and which are not he. 



II 

Poet who sleepest by this wandering wave ! 

When thou wast born, what birth-gift hadst thou then ? 
To thee what wealth was that the Immortals gave. 

The wealth thou gavest in thy turn to men? 

Not Milton's keen, translunar music thine; 

Not Shakespeare's cloudless, boundless human view ; 
Not Shelley's flush of rose on peaks divine ; 

Nor yet the wizard twilight Coleridge knew. 

What hadst thou that could make so large amends 
For all thou hadst not and thy peers possessed. 

Motion and fire, swift means to radiant ends ? — 
Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest. 



WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 105 

From Shelley's dazzling glow or thunderous haze, 
From Byron's tempest-anger, tempest-mirth. 

Men turned to thee and found — not blast and blaze, 
Tumult of tottering heavens, but peace on earth. 

Nor peace that grows by Lethe, scentless flower. 
There in white languors to dechne and cease ; 

But peace whose names are also rapture, power, 
Clear sight, and love : for these are parts of peace. 



Ill 

I hear it vouched the Muse is with us still ; — 
If less divinely frenzied than of yore, 

In Heu of feelings she has wondrous skill 
To simulate emotion felt no more. 



Not such the authentic Presence pure, that made 
This valley vocal in the great days gone ! — 

In his great days, while yet the spring-time played 
About him, and the mighty morning shone. 

No word-mosaic artificer, he sang 
A lofty song of lowly weal and dole. 

Right from the heart, right to the heart it sprang, 
Or from the soul leapt instant to the soul. 



106 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 

He felt the charm of childhood, grace of youth, 
Grandeur of age, insisting to be sung. 

The impassioned argument was simple truth 
Half-wondering at its own melodious tongue. 

Impassioned? ay, to the song's ecstatic core ! 

But far removed were clangour, storm and feud ; 
For plenteous health was his, exceeding store 

Of joy, and an impassioned quietude. 



IV 

A hundred years ere he to manhood came, 

Song from celestial heights had wandered down, 

Put off her robe of sunhght, dew and flame, 

And donned a modish dress to charm the Town. 

Thenceforth she but festooned the porch of things ; 

Apt at life's lore, incurious what hfe meant. 
Dextrous of hand, she struck her lute's few strings ; 

Ignobly perfect, barrenly content. 

Unflushed with ardour and unblanched with awe, 
Her hps in profitless derision curled. 

She saw with dull emotion — if she saw — 
The vision of the glory of the world. 



WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 107 

The human masque she watched, with dreamless eyes 
In whose clear shallows lurked no trembling shade : 

The stars, unkenned by her, might set and rise, 
Unmarked by her, the daisies bloom and fade. 

The age grew sated with her sterile wit. 

Herself waxed weary on her loveless throne. 
Men felt Hfe's tide, the sweep and surge of it, 

And craved a living voice, a natural tone. 

> 

For none the less, though song was but half true, 
The world lay common, one abounding theme. 

Man joyed and wept, and fate was ever new, 
And love was sweet, Ufe real, death no dream. 



In sad stern verse the rugged scholar-sage 

Bemoaned his toil unvalued, youth uncheered. 

His numbers wore the vesture of the age. 

But, 'neath it beating, the great heart was heard, 

From dewy pastures, uplands sweet with thyme, 
A virgin breeze freshened the jaded day. 

It wafted Collins' lonely vesper-chime. 

It breathed abroad the frugal note of Gray. 



108 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 

It fluttered here and there, nor swept in vain 
The dusty haunts where futile echoes dwell, — 

Then, in a cadence soft as summer rain. 

And sad from Auburn voiceless, drooped and fell. 

It drooped and fell, and one 'neath northern skies, 
With southern heart, who tilled his father's field, 

Found Poesy a-dying, bade her rise 

And touch quick nature's hem and go forth healed. 

On life's broad plain the ploughman's conquering share 
Upturned the fallow lands of truth anew. 

And o'er the formal garden's trim parterre 
The peasant's team a ruthless furrow drew. 

Bright was his going forth, but clouds ere long 

Whelmed him ; in gloom his radiance set, and those 

Twin morning stars of the new century's song. 
Those morning stars that sang together, rose. 

In elvish speech the Dreamed' told his tale 

Of marvellous oceans swept by fateful wings. — 

The Seer strayed not from earth's human pale, 
But the mysterious face of common things 



WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 109 

He mirrored as the moon in Rydal Mere 

Is mirrored, when the breathless night hangs blue : 

Strangely remote she seems and wondrous near, 
And by some nameless difference born anew. 



V 

Peace — peace — and rest ! Ah, how the lyre is loth, 
Or powerless now, to give what all men seek ! 

Either it deadens with ignoble sloth 

Or deafens with shrill tumult, loudly weak. 

Where is the singer whose large notes and clear 
Can heal and arm and plenish and sustain ? 

Lo, one with empty music floods the ear, 

And one, the heart refreshing, tires the brain. 

And idly tuneful, the loquacious throng 

Flutter and twitter, prodigal of time, 
And httle masters make a toy of song 

Till grave men weary of the sound of rhyme. 

And some go prankt in faded antique dress, 
Abhorring to be hale and glad and free ; 

And some parade a conscious naturalness, 
The scholar's not the child's simplicity. 



110 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 

Enough ; — and wisest who from words forbear. 

The kindly river rails not as it glides ; 
And suave and charitable, the winning air 

Chides not at all, or only him who chides. 

VI 

Nature ! we storm thine ear with choric notes. 

Thou answerest through the calm great nights and 
days, 
" Laud me who will : not tuneless are your throats ; 

Yet if ye paused I should not miss the praise." 

We falter, half-rebuked, and sing again. 

We chant thy desertness and haggard gloom. 
Or with thy splendid wrath inflate the strain. 

Or touch it with thy colour and perfume. 

One, his melodious blood aflame for thee. 

Wooed with fierce lust, his hot heart world-defiled. 

One, with the upward eye of infancy, 

Looked in thy face, and felt himself thy child. 

Thee he approached without distrust or dread — 
Beheld thee throned, an awful queen, above — 

Climbed to thy lap and merely laid his head 
Against thy warm wild heart of mother-love. 



WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 111 

He heard that vast heart beating — thou didst press 
Thy child so close, and lov'dst him unaware. 

Thy beauty gladdened him ; yet he scarce less 
Had loved thee, had he never found thee fair ! 

For thou wast not as legendary lands 

To which with curious eyes and ears we roam. 

Nor wast thou as a fane mid solemn sands, 

Where palmers halt at evening. Thou wast home. 

And here, at home, still bides he ; but he sleeps ; 

Not to be wakened even at thy word ; 
Though we, vague dreamers, dream he somewhere keeps 

An ear still open to thy voice still heard, — 

Thy voice, as heretofore, about him blown. 
For ever blown about his silence now ; 

Thy voice, though deeper, yet so hke his own 

That almost, when he sang, we deemed 'twas thou ! 



VII 

Behind Helm Crag and Silver Howe the sheen 
Of the retreating day is less and less. 

Soon will the lordlier summits, here unseen, 
Gather the night about their nakedness. 



112 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 

The half-heard bleat of sheep comes from the hill, 
Faint sounds of childish play are in the air. 

The river murmurs past. All else is still. 
The very graves seem stiller than they were. 

Afar though nation be on nation hurled, 

And life with toil and ancient pain depressed, 

Here one may scarce believe the whole wide world 
Is not at peace, and all man's heart at rest. 

Rest ! 'twas the gift he gave ; and peace ! the shade 
He spread, for spirits fevered with the sun. 

To him his bounties are come back — here laid 
In rest, in peace, his labour nobly done. 



LACHRYM.^ MUSARUM 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 



TO 

RICHARD HOLT HUTTON 

AND 

MEREDITH TOWNSEND 

WITH GRATITUDE 

"5 



LACHRYM^ MUSARUM 

(6th October 1892) 

Low, like another's, lies the laurelled head : 
The life that seemed a perfect song is o'er : 
Carry the last great bard to his last bed. 
Land that he loved, thy noblest voice is mute. 
Land that he loved, that loved him ! nevermore 
Meadow of thine, smooth lawn or wild sea-shore, 
Gardens of odorous bloom and tremulous fruit, 
Or woodlands old, like Druid couches spread, 
The master's feet shall tread. 
Death's little rift hath rent the faultless lute : 
The singer of undying songs is dead. 

Lo, in this season pensive-hued and grave. 
While fades and falls the doomed, reluctant leaf 
From withered Earth's fantastic coronal, 
With wandering sighs of forest and of wave 
Mingles the murmur of a people's grief 
For him whose leaf shall fade not, neither fall. 

117 



118 LACHRYM^ MUSARUM 

He hath fared forth, beyond these suns and showers. 
For us, the autumn glow, the autumn flame, 
And soon the winter silence shall be ours : 
Him the eternal spring of fadeless fame 
Crowns with no mortal flowers. 

Rapt though he be from us, 
Virgil salutes him, and Theocritus ; 
Catullus, mightiest-brained Lucretius, each 
Greets him, their brother, on the Stygian beach ; 
Proudly a gaunt right hand doth Dante reach ; 
Milton and Wordsworth bid him welcome home ; 
Bright Keats to touch his raiment doth beseech ; 
Coleridge, his locks aspersed with fairy foam, 
Calm Spenser, Chaucer suave, 
His equal friendship crave : 
And godhke spirits hail him guest, in speech 
Of Athens, Florence, Weimar, Stratford, Rome. 

What needs his laurel our ephemeral tears. 
To save from visitation of decay ? 
Not in this temporal sunlight, now, that bay 
Blooms, nor to perishable mundane ears 
Sings he with lips of transitory clay ; 
For he hath joined the chorus of his peers 
In habitations of the perfect day : 



LACBRYMyE AI USA RUM 119 

His earthly notes a heavenly audience hears, 
And more melodious are henceforth the spheres, 
Enriched with music stol'n from earth away. 

He hath returned to regions whence he came. 
Him doth the spirit divine 
Of universal loveliness reclaim. 
All nature is his shrine. 
Seek him henceforward in the wind and sea. 
In earth's and air's emotion or repose, 
In every star's august serenity. 
And in the rapture of the flaming rose. 
There seek him if ye would not seek in vain. 
There, in the rhythm and music of the Whole ; 
Yea, and for ever in the human soul 
Made stronger and more beauteous by his strain. 

For lo ! creation's self is one great choir. 
And what is nature's order but the rhyme 
Whereto the worlds keep time. 

And all things move with all things from their prime ? 
Who shall expound the mystery of the lyre ? 
In far retreats of elemental mind 
Obscurely comes and goes 
The imperative breath of song, that as the wind 
Is trackless, and oblivious whence it blows. 



120 LACHRYM^ M USA RUM 

Demand of lilies wherefore they are white, 
Extort her crimson secret from the rose, 
But ask not of the Muse that she disclose 
The meaning of the riddle of her might : 
Somewhat of all things sealed and recondite, 
Save the enigma of herself, she knows. 
The master could not tell, with all his lore, 
Wherefore he sang, or whence the mandate sped 
Ev'n as the linnet sings, so I, he said ; — 
Ah, rather as the imperial nightingale, 
That held in trance the ancient Attic shore. 
And charms the ages with the notes that o'er 
All woodland chants immortally prevail ! 
And now, from our vain plaudits greatly fled. 
He with diviner silence dwells instead. 
And on no earthly sea with transient roar. 
Unto no earthly airs, he trims his sail, 
But far beyond our vision and our hail 
Is heard for ever and is seen no more. 

No more, O never now, 
Lord of the lofty and the tranquil brow 
Whereon nor snows of time 
Have fall'n, nor wintry rime. 
Shall men behold thee, sage and mage sublime. 
Once, in his youth obscure, 



LACHRYMyE M US ARUM 121 

The maker of this verse, which shall endure 

By splendour of its theme that cannot die, 

Beheld thee eye to eye. 

And touched through thee the hand 

Of every hero of thy race divine,. 

Ev'n to the sire of all the laurelled line. 

The sightless wanderer on the Ionian strand. 

With soul as healthful as the poignant brine. 

Wide as his skies and radiant as his seas, 

Starry from haunts of his FamiKars nine, 

Glorious Mseonides. 

Yea, I beheld thee, and behold thee yet : 

Thou hast forgotten, but can I forget? 

The accents of thy pure and sovereign tongue, 

Are they not ever goldenly impressed 

On memory's palimpsest? 

I see the wizard locks like night that hung, 

I tread the floor thy hallowing feet have trod ; 

I see the hands a nation's lyre that strung, 

The eyes that looked through life and gazed on God. 

The seasons change, the winds they shift and veer ; 
The grass of yesteryear 
Is dead ; the birds depart, the groves decay : 
Empires dissolve and peoples disappear : 
Song passes not away. 



122 LACHRYMj^ MUSARUM 

Captains and conquerors leave a little dust, 
And kings a dubious legend of their reign ; 
The swords of Csesars, they are less than rust : 
The poet doth remain. 
Dead is Augustus, Maro is alive ; 
And thou, the Mantuan of our age and clime. 
Like Virgil shalt thy race and tongue survive, 
Bequeathing no less honeyed words to time. 
Embalmed in amber of eternal rhyme, 
And rich with sweets from every Muse's hive ; 
While to the measure of the cosmic rune 
For purer ears thou shalt thy lyre attune. 
And heed no more the hum of idle praise 
In that great calm our tumults cannot reach. 
Master who crown'st our immelodious days 
With flower of perfect speech. 



DEDICATION OF "THE DREAM OF MAN" 

To London, My Hostess 

City that waitest to be sung, — 

For whom no hand 
To mighty strains the lyre hath strung 

In all this land, 
Though mightier theme the mightiest ones 

Sang not of old, 
The thrice three sisters' godlike sons 

With lips of gold, — 
Till greater voice thy greatness sing 

In loftier times. 
Suffer an alien muse to bring 

Her votive rhymes. 

Yes, alien in thy midst am I, 

Not of thy brood ; 
The nurshng of a norland sky 

Of rougher mood : 
123 



124 DEDICATION OF ''THE DREAM OF MAN' 

To me, thy tarrying guest, to me, 

'Mid thy loud hum, 
Strayed visions of the moor or sea 

Tormenting come. 
Above the thunder of the wheels 

That hurry by. 
From lapping of lone waves there steals 

A far-sent sigh ; 

And many a dream-reared mountain crest 

My feet have trod. 
There where thy Minster in the West 

Gropes toward God. 
Yet, from thy presence if I go. 

By woodlands deep 
Or ocean-fringes, thou, I know, 

Wilt haunt my sleep ; 
Thy restless tides of life will foam, 

Still, in my sight ; 
Thy imperturbable dark dome 

Will crown my night. 

O sea of living waves that roll 

On golden sands, 
Or break on tragic reef and shoal 

'Mid fatal lands ; 



DEDICATION OF ''THE DREAM OF MAN'' 125 

forest wrought of living leaves, 

Some filled with Spring, 
Where joy life's festal raiment weaves 

And all birds sing, — 
Some trampled in the miry ways, 

Or whirled along 
By fury of tempestuous days, — 

Take thou my song ! 

For thou hast scorned not heretofore 
The gifts of rhyme 

1 dropped, half faltering, at thy door, 

City subhme ; 
And though 'tis true I am but guest 

Within thy gate. 
Unto thy hands I owe the best 

Awards of fate. 
Imperial hostess ! thanks from me 

To thee belong : 
O living forest, living sea. 

Take thou my song ! 



THE DREAM OF MAN 

To the eye and the ear of the Dreamer 
This Dream out of darkness flew, 

Through the horn or the ivory portal, 
But he wist not which of the two. 

It was the Human Spirit, 

Of all men's souls the Soul, 
Man the unwearied climber, 

That climbed to the unknown goal. 
And up the steps of the ages, 

The difficult steep ascent, 
Man the unwearied climber 

Pauseless and dauntle.ss went, 
u^ons rolled behind him 

With thunder of far retreat, 
And still as he strove he conquered 

And laid his foes at his feet. 
Inimical powers of nature, 

Tempest and flood and fire, 
126 



THE DREAM OF MAN 127 

The spleen of fickle seasons 

That loved to baulk his desire, 
The breath of hostile climates, 

The ravage of blight and dearth, 
The old unrest that vexes 

The heart of the moody earth. 
The genii swift and radiant 

Sabreing heaven with flame, 
He, with a keener weapon, 

The sword of his wit, overcame. 
Disease and her ravening offspring, 

Pain with the thousand teeth. 
He drave into night primeval, 

The nethermost worlds beneath. 
Till the Lord of Death, the undying, 

Ev'n Asrael the King, 
No more with Furies for heralds 

Came armed with scourge and sting, 
But gentle of voice and of visage. 

By calm Age ushered and led, 
A guest, serenely featured, 

Entering, woke no dread. 
And, as the rolling aeons 

Retreated with pomp of sound, 
Man's spirit, grown too lordly 

For this mean orb to bound, 



128 THE DREAM OF MAN 

By arts in his youth undreamed of 

His terrene fetters broke. 
With enterprise ethereal 

Spurning the natal yoke, 
And, stung with divine ambition, 

And fired with a glorious greed. 
He annexed the stars and the planets 

And peopled them with his seed. 



Then said he, " The infinite Scripture 

I have read and interpreted clear, 
And searching all worlds I have found not 

My sovereign or my peer. 
In what room of the palace of nature 

Resides the invisible God? 
For all her doors I have opened. 

And all her floors I have trod. 
If greater than I be her tenant. 

Let him answer my challenging call : 
Till then I admit no rival, 

But crown myself master of all." 
And forth as that word went bruited, 

By Man unto Man were raised 
Fanes of devout self-homage, 

Where he who praised was the praised ; 



THE DREAM OF MAN ' 129 

And from vast unto vast of creation 

The new evangel ran, 
And an odour of world-wide incense 

Went up from Man unto Man ; 
Until, on a solemn feast-day, 

When the world's usurping lord 
At a million impious altars 

His own proud image adored, 
God spake as He stept from His ambush : 

" O great in thine own conceit, 
I will show thee thy source, how humble, 

Thy goal, for a god how unmeet." 



Thereat, by the word of the Maker 

The Spirit of Man was led 
To a mighty peak of vision. 

Where God to His creature said : 
" Look eastward toward time's sunrise." 

And, age upon age untold, 
The Spirit of Man saw clearly 

The Past as a chart out- rolled, — 
Beheld his base beginnings 

In the depths of time, and his strife, 
With beasts and crawling horrors 

For leave to live, when Hfe 



130 THE DREAM OF MAN 

Meant but to slay and to procreate. 

To feed and to sleep, among 
Mere mouths, voracities boundless, 

Blind lusts, desires without tongue, 
And ferocities vast, fulfilling 

Their being's malignant law. 
While nature was one hunger, 

And one hate, all fangs and maw. 



With that, for a single moment. 

Abashed at his own descent. 
In humbleness Man's Spirit 

At the feet of the Maker bent j 
But, swifter than light, he recovered 

The stature and pose of his pride, 
And, ^^ Think not thus to shame me 

With my mean birth," he cried. 
"This is my loftiest greatness, 

To have been born so low ; 
Greater than Thou the ungrowing 

Am I that for ever grow." 
And God forbore to rebuke him, 

But answered brief and stern, 
Bidding him toward time's sunset 

His vision westward turn ; 



THE DREAM OF MAN 131 

And the Spirit of Man obeying 

Beheld as a chart out-rolled 
The likeness and form of the Future, 

Age upon age untold ; 
Beheld his own meridian, 

And beheld his dark decline, 
His secular fall to nadir 

From summits of light divine, 
Till at last, amid worlds exhausted. 

And bankrupt of force and fire, 
'Twas his, in a torrent of darkness. 

Like a sputtering lamp to expire. 



Then a war of shame and anger 

Did the realm of his soul divide ; 
" 'Tis false, 'tis a lying vision," 

In the face of his God he cried. 
" Thou thinkest to daunt me with shadows ; 

Not such as Thou feign'st is my doom : 
From glory to rise unto glory 

Is mine, who have risen from gloom. 
I doubt if Thou knew'st at my making 

How near to Thy throne I should climb, 
O'er the mountainous slopes of the ages 

And the conquered peaks of time. 



132 THE DREAM OF MAN 

Nor shall I look backward nor rest me 

Till the uttermost heights I have trod, 
And am equalled with Thee or above Thee, 
. The mate or the master of God." 

Ev'n thus Man turned from the Maker, 

With thundered defiance wild. 
And God with a terrible silence 

Reproved the speech of His child. 
And man returned to his labours, 

And stiffened the neck of his will ; 
And the aeons still went rolhng, 

And his power was crescent still. 
But yet there remained to conquer 

One foe, and the greatest — although 
Despoiled of his ancient terrors. 

At heart, as of old, a foe — 
Unmaker of all, and renewer. 

Who winnows the world with his wing, 
The Lord of Death, the undying, 

Ev'n Asrael the King. 

And lo, Man mustered his forces 

The war of wars to wage. 
And with storm and thunder of onset 

Did the foe of foes engage. 



THE DREAM OF MAN 133 

And the Lord of Death, the undying, 

Was beset and harried sore, 
In his immemorial fastness 

At night's aboriginal core. 
And during years a thousand 

Man leaguered his enemy's hold, 
While nature was one deep tremor, 

And the heart of the world waxed cold, 
Till the phantom battlements wavered. 

And the ghostly fortress fell. 
And Man with shadowy fetters 

Bound fast great Asrael. 



So, to each star in the heavens. 

The exultant word was blown, 
The annunciation tremendous, 

Death is overthrown J 
And Space in her ultimate borders 

Prolonging the jubilant tone. 
With hollow ingeminations, 

Sighed, Death is overthrown ! 
And God in His house of silence, 

Where He dwelleth aloof, alone, 
Paused in His tasks to hearken : 

Death is overthf-own / 



134 THE DREAM OF MAN 

Then a solemn and high thanksgiving 

By Man unto Man was sung, 
In his temples of self-adoration, 

With his own multitudinous tongue ; 
x^nd he said to his Soul : " Rejoice thou 

For thy last great foe lies bound, 
Ev'n Asrael the Unmaker, 

Unmade, disarmed, discrowned." 



And behold, his Soul rejoiced not. 

The breath of whose being was strife. 
For life with nothing to vanquish 

Seemed but the shadow of life. 
No goal invited and promised 

And divinely provocative shone ; 
And Fear having fled, her sister. 

Blest Hope, in her train was gone ; 
And the coping and crown of achievement 

Was hell than defeat more dire — 
The torment of all-things-compassed, 

The plague of nought-to-desire ; 
And Man the invincible queller, 

Man with his foot on his foes. 
In boundless satiety hungred. 

Restless from utter repose, 



THE DREAM OF MAN 135 

Victor of nature, victor 

Of the prince of the powers of the air, 
By miglity weariness vanquished, 

And crowned with august despair. 



Then, at his dreadful zenith, 

He cried unto God : " O Thou 
Whom of old in my days of striving 

Methought I needed not, — now, 
In this my abject glory, 

My hopeless and helpless might. 
Hearken and cheer and succour ! " 

And God from His lonely height, 
From eternity's passionless summits. 

On suppliant Man looked down. 
And His brow waxed human with pity. 

Belying its awful crown. 
"Thy richest possession," He answered, 

" Blest Hope, will I restore, 
And the infinite wealth of weakness 

Which was thy strength of yore ; 
And I will arouse from slumber. 

In his hold where bound he Hes, 
Thine enemy most benefic ; — 

O Asrael, hear and rise ! " 



136 THE DREAM OF MAN 

And a sound like the heart of nature 

Riven and cloven and torn, 
Announced, to the ear universal, 

Undying Death new-born. 
Subhme he rose in his fetters, , 

And shook the chains aside 
Ev'n as some mortal sleeper 

'Mid forests in autumntide 
Rises and shakes off lightly 

The leaves that lightly fell 
On his limbs and his hair unheeded 

While as yet he slumbered well. 



And Deity paused and hearkened. 

Then turned to the undivine, 
Saying, " O Man, My creature, 

Thy lot was more blest than Mine. 
I taste not dehght of seeking. 

Nor the boon of longing know. 
There is but one joy transcendent. 

And I hoard it not but bestow. 
I hoard it not nor have tasted. 

But freely I gave it to thee — 
The joy of most glorious striving, 

Which dieth in victory." 



THE DREAM OF MAN 137 

Thus, to the Soul of the Dreamer, 
This Dream out of darkness flew, 

Through the horn or the ivory portal, 
But he wist not which of the two. 



SHELLEY'S CENTENARY 
(4TH August 1892) 

Within a narrow span of time, 
Three princes of the realm of rhyme, 
At height of youth or manhood's prime, 

From earth took wing, 
To join the fellowship sublime 

Who, dead, yet sing. 

He, first, his earliest wreath who wove 
Of laurel grown in Latmian grove. 
Conquered by pain and hapless love 

Found calmer home. 
Roofed by the heaven that glows above 

Eternal Rome. 

A fierier soul, its own fierce prey. 
And cumbered with more mortal clay. 
At Missolonghi flamed away, 

And left the air 
Reverberating to this day 

Its loud despair. 
138 



SHELLEY'S CENTENARY 139 

Alike remote from Byron's scorn, 
And Keats's magic as of morn 
Bursting for ever newly-born 

On forests old, 
Waking a hoary world forlorn 

With touch of gold, 

Shelley, the cloud-begot, who grew 
Nourished on air and sun and dew. 
Into that Essence whence he drew 

His life and lyre 
Was fittingly resolved anew 

Through wave and fire. 

'Twas like his rapid soul ! 'Twas meet 
That he, who brooked not Time's slow feet, 
With passage thus abrupt and fleet 

Should hurry hence, 
Eager the Great Perhaps to greet 

With Why? and Whence? 

Impatient of the world's fixed way. 
He ne'er could suffer God's delay, 
But all the future in a day 

Would build divine. 
And the whole past in ruins lay, 

An emptied shrine. 



140 SHELLEY'S CENTENARY 

Vain vision ! but the glow, the fire, 

The passion of benign desire. 

The glorious yearning, lift him higher 

Than many a soul 
That mounts a million paces nigher 

Its meaner goal. 

And power is his, if naught besides, 
In that thin ether where he rides, 
Above the roar of human tides 

To ascend afar, 
Lost in a storm of light that hides 

His dizzy car. 

Below, the unhastening world toils on, 
And here and there are victories won, 
Some dragon slain, some justice done, 

While, through the skies, 
A meteor rushing on the sun. 

He flares and dies. 

But, as he cleaves yon ether clear 
Notes from the unattempted Sphere 
He scatters to the enchanted ear 

Of earth's dim throng, 
Whose dissonance doth more endear 

The showering song. 



SHELLEY'S CENTENARY 141 

In other shapes than he forecast 

The world is moulded : his fierce blast, — 

His wild assault upon the Past, — 

These things are vain ; 
Revolt is transient : what must last 

Is that pure strain, 

Which seems the wandering voices blent 

Of every virgin element, — 

A sound from ocean caverns sent, — 

An airy call 
From the pavilioned firmament 

O'erdoming all. 

And in this world of worldlings, where 
Souls rust in apathy, and ne'er 
A great emotion shakes the air, 

And life flags tame, 
And rare is noble impulse, rare 

The impassioned aim, 

'Tis no mean fortune to have heard 
A singer who, if errors blurred 
His sight, had yet a spirit stirred 

By vast desire, 
And ardour fledging the swift word 

With plumes of fire. 



142 SHELLEY'S CENTENARY 

A creature of impetuous breath, 
Our torpor deadlier than death 
He knew not ; whatsoe'er he saith 

Flashes with life : 
He spurreth men, he quickeneth 

To splendid strife. 

And in his gusts of song he brings 
Wild odours shaken from strange wings, 
And unfamiliar whisperings 

From far lips blown. 
While all the rapturous heart of things 

Throbs through his own, — 

His own that from the burning pyre 
One who had loved his wind-swept lyre 
Out of the sharp teeth of the fire 

Unmolten drew, 
Beside the sea that in her ire 

Smote him and slew. 



A GOLDEN HOUR 

A BECKONING Spirit of gladness seemed afloat, 

That lightly danced in laughing air before us : 
The earth was all in tune, and you a note 
Of Nature's happy chorus. 

'Twas like a vernal morn, yet overhead 

The leafless boughs across the lane were knitting : 
The ghost of some forgotten Spring, we said, 
O'er Winter's world comes flitting. 

Or was it Spring herself, that, gone astray. 

Beyond the alien frontier chose to tarry? 
Or but some bold outrider of the May, 
Some April- emissary? 

The apparition faded on the air, 

Capricious and incalculable comer. — 
Wilt thou too pass, and leave my chill days bare, 
And fall'n my phantom Summer? 
^43 



AT THE GRAVE OF CHARLES LAMB, 
IN EDMONTON 

Not here, O teeming City, was it meet 

Thy lover, thy most faithful, should repose, 
But where the multitudinous life-tide flows 

Whose ocean-murmur was to him more sweet 

Than melody of birds at morn, or bleat 

Of flocks in Spring-time, the7-e should Earth enclose 
His earth, amid thy thronging joys and woes. 

There, 'neath the music of thy million feet. 

In love of thee this lover knew no peer. 

Thine eastern or thy western fane had made 
Fit habitation for his noble shade. 

Mother of mightier, nurse of none more dear, 

Not here, in rustic exile, O not here, 
Thy Elia like an alien should be laid ! 

144 



LINES IN A FLYLEAF OF "CHRISTABEL" 

Inhospitably hast thou entertained, 
O Poet, us the bidden to thy board, 
Whom in mid- feast, and while our thousand mouths 
Are one laudation of the festal cheer. 
Thou from thy table dost dismiss, unfilled. 
Yet loudlier thee than many a lavish host 
We praise, and oftener thy repast half-served 
Than many a stintless banquet, prodigally 
Through satiate hours prolonged ; nor praise less well 
Because with tongues thou hast not cloyed, and lips 
That mourn the parsimony of affluent souls, 
And mix the lamentation with the laud. 

145 



LINES TO OUR NEW CENSOR 

[Mr. Oscar "Wildcj having discovered that England is unworthy 
of him, has announced his resolve to become a naturalised 
Frenchman.] 

And wilt thou, Oscar, from us flee, 

And must we, henceforth, wholly sever? 

Shall thy laborious/^z^^jf-^Vjr/n/ 
Sadden our lives no more for ever? 

And all thy future wilt thou link 

With that brave land to which thou goest? 

Unhappy France ! we tcsed to think 

She touched, at Sedan, fortune's lowest. 

And you're made French as easily 

As you might change the clothes you're wearing ? 
Fancy ! — and 'tis so hard to be 

A man of sense and modest bearing. 
146 



LINES TO OUR NEW CENSOR 147 

May fortitude beneath this blow 

Fail not the gallant Gallic nation ! 
By past experience, well we know 

Her genius for recuperation. 

And as for us — to our disgrace, 

Your stricture's truth must be conceded : 

Would any but a stupid race 

Have made the fuss about you we did ? 



RELUCTANT SUMMER 

Reluctant Summer ! once, a maid 

Full easy of access, 
In many a bee-frequented shade 

Thou didst thy lover bless. 
Divinely unreproved I played, 

Then, with each liberal tress — 
And art thou grown at last afraid 

Of some too close caress ? 

Or deem'st that if thou shouldst abide 

My passion might decay? 
Thou leav'st me pining and denied, 

Coyly thou say'st me nay. 
Ev'n as I woo thee to my side. 

Thou, importuned to stay, 
Like Orpheus' half-recovered bride 

Ebb'st from my arms away. 
148 



THE GREAT MISGIVING 

" Not ours," say some, " the thought of death to dread ; 

Asking no heaven, we fear no fabled hell : 
Life is a feast, and we have banqueted — 

Shall not the worms as well ? 

" The after-silence, when the feast is o'er. 

And void the places where the minstrels stood, 

Differs in nought from what hath been before, 
And is nor ill nor good." 

Ah, but the Apparition — the dumb sign — 
The beckoning finger bidding me forego 

The fellowship, the converse, and the wine, 
The songs, the festal glow ! 

And ah, to know not, while with friends I sit, 
And while the purple joy is passed about, 

Whether 'tis ampler day divinelier lit 
Or homeless night without ; 

149 



150 THE GREAT MISGIVING 

And whether, stepping forth, my soul shall see 
New prospects, or fall sheer — a bhnded thing 

There is, O grave, thy hourly victory, 
And there, O death, thy sting. 



"THE THINGS THAT ARE MORE 
EXCELLENT " 

As we wax older on this earth, 

Till many a toy that charmed us seems 
Emptied of beauty, stripped of worth, 

And mean as dust and dead as dreams, — 
For gauds that perished, shows that passed. 

Some recompense the Fates have sent : 
Thrice lovelier shine the things that last, 

The things that are more excellent. 

Tired of the Senate's barren brawl. 

An hour with silence we prefer. 
Where statelier rise the woods than all 

Yon towers of talk at Westminster. 
Let this man prate and that man plot, 

On fame or place or title bent : 
The votes of veering crowds are not 

The things that are more excellent. 
151 



152 « THE THINGS THA T ARE 

Shall we perturb and vex our soul 

For " wrongs " which no true freedom mar, 
Which no man's upright walk control, 

And from no guiltless deed debar? 
What odds though tonguesters heal, or leave 

Unhealed, the grievance they invent? 
To things, not phantoms, let us cleave — 

The things that are more excellent. 

Nought nobler is, than to be free : 

The stars of heaven are free because 
In amplitude of liberty 

Their joy is to obey the laws. 
From servitude to freedom's name 

Free thou thy mind in bondage pent ; 
Depose the fetich, and proclaim 

The things that are more excellent. 

And in appropriate dust be hurled 

That dull, punctilious god, whom they 
That call their tiny clan the world, 

Serve and obsequiously obey : 
Who con their ritual of Routine, 

With minds to one dead likeness blent. 
And never ev'n in dreams have seen 

The things that are more excellent. 



MORE EXCELLENT'' 153 

To dress, to call, to dine, to break 

No canon of the social code. 
The little laws that lacqueys make, 

The futile decalogue of Mode, — 
How many a soul for these things lives, 

With pious passion, grave intent ! 
While Nature careless-handed gives 

The things that are more excellent. 

To hug the wealth ye cannot use, 

And lack the riches all may gain, — 
O blind and wanting wit to choose. 

Who house the chaff and burn the grain ! 
And still doth life with starry towers 

Lure to the bright, divine ascent ! — 
Be yours the things ye would : be ours 

The things that are more excellent. 

The grace of friendship — mind and heart 

Linked with their fellow heart and mind ; 
The gains of science, gifts of art ; 

The sense of oneness with our kind ; 
The thirst to know and understand — 

A large and liberal discontent : 
These are the goods in life's rich hand, 

The things that are more excellent. 



154 ''THE THINGS THAT ARE;' ETC. 

In faultless rhythm the ocean rolls, 

A rapturous silence thrills the skies ; 
And on this earth are lovely souls, 

That softly look with aidful eyes. 
Though dark, O God, Thy course and track, 

I think Thou must at least have meant 
That nought which lives should wholly lack 

The things that are more excellent. 



BEAUTY'S METEMPSYCHOSIS 

That beauty such as thine 
Can die indeed, 
Were ordinance too wantonly malign : 
No wit may reconcile so cold a creed 

With beauty such as thine. 

From wave and star and flower 
Some effluence rare 
Was lent thee, a divine but transient dower : 
Thou yield'st it back from eyes and lips and hair 

To wave and star and flower. 

Shouldst thou to-morrow die, 
Thou still shalt be 
Found in the rose and met in all the sky : 
And from the ocean's heart shalt sing to me, 
Shouldst thou to-morrow die. 
155 



ENGLAND MY MOTHER 



England my mother, 
Wardress of waters, 
Builder of peoples, 
Maker of men, — 

Hast thou yet leisure 
Left for the muses ? 
Heed'st thou the songsmith 
Forging the rhyme ? 

Deafened with tumults, 
How canst thou hearken ? 
Strident is faction, 
Demos is loud. 

Lazarus, hungry. 
Menaces Dives ; 
Labour the giant 
Chafes in his hold. 
156 



ENGLAND MY MOTHER 157 

Yet do the songsmiths 
Quit not their forges ; 
Still on life's anvil 

Forge they the rhyme. 

Still the rapt faces 
Glow from the furnace : 
Breath of the smithy 
Scorches their brows. 

Yea, and thou hear'st them? 
So shall the hammers 
Fashion not vainly 
Verses of gold. 

II 

Lo, with the ancient 
Roots of man's nature, 
Twines the eternal 
Passion of song. 

Ever Love fans it, 
Ever Life feeds it, 
Time cannot age it ; 
Death cannot slay. 



158 ENGLAND MY MOTHER 

Deep in the world-heart 
Stand its foundations, 
Tangled with all things, 
Twin-made with all. 

Nay, what is Nature's 
Self, but an endless 
Strife toward music, 
Euphony, rhyme? 

Trees in their blooming. 
Tides in their flowing. 
Stars in their circling, 
Tremble with song. 

God on His throne is 
Eldest of poets : 
Unto His measures 
Moveth the Whole. 



Ill 

Therefore deride not 
Speech of the muses, 
England my mother, 
Maker of men. 



ENGLAND MY MOTHER 159 

Nations are mortal, 
Fragile is greatness ; 
Fortune may fly thee, 
Song shall not fly. 

Song the all-girdling, 
Song cannot perish : 
Men shall make music, 
Man shall give ear. 

Not while the choric 
Chant of creation 
Floweth from all things. 
Poured without pause. 

Cease we to echo 
Faintly the descant 
Whereto for ever 
Dances the world. 



IV 

So let the songsmith 
Proffer his rhyme -gift, 
England my mother. 
Maker of men. 



160 ENGLAND MY MOTHER 

Gray grows thy count'nance, 
Full of the ages ; 
Time on thy forehead 
Sits like a dream : 

Song is the potion 
All things renewing, 
Youth's one elixir, 
Fountain of morn. 

Thou, at the world-loom 
Weaving thy future, 
Fitly may'st temper 
Toil with delight. 

Deemest thou, labour 
Only is earnest ? 
Grave is all beauty. 
Solemn is joy. 

Song is no bauble — 
Slight not the songsmith, 
England my mother, 
Maker of men. 



NIGHT 

In the night, in the night, 

When thou Hest alone, 

Ah, the sounds that are blown 

In the freaks of the breeze. 
By the spirit that sends 
The voice of far friends 

With the sigh of the seas 
In the night ! 

In the night, in the night, 
When thou hest alone, 
Ah, the ghosts that make moan 
From the days that are sped : 
The old dreams, the old deeds. 
The old wound that still bleeds. 
And the face of the dead 
In the night ! 
i6i 



162 NIGHT 

In the night, in the night, 
When thou hest alone, 
With the grass and the stone 

O'er thy chamber so deep, 
Ah, the silence at last. 
Life's dissonance past, 

And only pure sleep 
In the night ! 



THE FUGITIVE IDEAL 

As some most pure and noble face, 

Seen in the thronged and hurrying street, 
Sheds o'er the world a sudden grace, 

A flying odour sweet, 
Then, passing, leaves the cheated sense 
Baulked with a phantom excellence ; 

So, on our soul the visions rise 

Of that fair life we never led : 
They flash a splendour past our eyes, 
We start, and they are fled : 
They pass, and leave us with blank gaze, 
Resigned to our ignoble days. 
163 



"THE FORESTERS" 

(Lines written on the appearance of Lord Tennyson's drama.) 

Clear as of old the great voice rings to-day, 

While Sherwood's oak-leaves twine with Aldworth's 

bay: 
The voice of him the master and the sire 
Of one whole age and legion of the lyre, 
Who sang his morning-song when Coleridge still 
Uttered dark oracles from Highgate Hill, 
And with new-launched argosies of rhyme 
Gilds and makes brave this sombreing tide of time. 
Far be the hour when lesser brows shall wear 
The laurel glorious from that wintry hair — 
When he, the sovereign of our lyric day, 
In Charon's shallop must be rowed away. 
And hear, scarce heeding, 'mid the plash of oar, 
The ave atque vale from the shore ! 

To him nor tender nor heroic muse 
Did her divine confederacy refuse : 

164 



''THE FORESTERS'' 165 

To all its moods the lyre of life he strung, 

And notes of death fell deathless from his tongue. 

Himself the Merlin of his magic strain, 

He bade old glories break in gloom again ; 

And so exempted from oblivious doom, 

Through him these days shall fadeless break in bloom. 



SONG 

Lightly we met in the morn, 

Lightly we parted at eve. 
There was never a thought of the thorn 

The rose of a day might leave. 

Fate's finger we did not perceive. 
So lightly we met in the morn ! 

So lightly we parted at eve 

We knew not that Love was born. 

I rose on the morrow forlorn, 

To pine and remember and grieve. 

Too lightly we met in the morn ! 
Too lightly we parted at eve ! 
i66 



COLUMBUS 

(i2TH October 1492) 

From his adventurous prime 
He dreamed the dream subhme 
Over his wandering youth 
It hung, a beckoning star. 
At last the vision fled, 
And left him in its stead 
The scarce sublimer truth, 
The world he found afar. 

The scattered isles that stand 
Warding the mightier land 
Yielded their maidenhood 
To his imperious prow. 
The mainland within call 
Lay vast and virginal : 

In its blue porch he stood : 
No more did fate allow. 
167 



168 COLUMBUS 

No more ! but ah, how much, 
To be the first to touch 
The veriest azure hem 
Of that majestic robe ! 
Lord of the lordly sea, 
Earth's mightiest sailor he : 
Great Captain among them. 
The captors of the globe. 

When shall the world forget 
Thy glory and our debt, 
Indomitable soul. 
Immortal Genoese? 
Not while the shrewd salt gale 
Whines amid shroud and sail. 
Above the rhythmic roll 
And thunder of the seas. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

PART THE FIRST 

There was a time, it passeth me to say 
How long ago, but sure 'twas many a day 
Before the world had gotten her such store 
Of foohsh wisdom as she hath, — before 
She fell to waxing gray with weight of years 
And knowledge, bitter knowledge, bought with tears, — 
When it did seem as if the feet of time 
Moved to the music of a golden rhyme, 
And never one false thread might woven be 
Athwart that web of worldwide melody. 
'Twas then there lived a certain queen and king, 
Unvext of wars or other evil thing, 
Within a spacious palace builded high, 
Whence they might see their chiefest city lie 
About them, and half hear from their tall towers 
Its populous murmur through the daylight hours, 
And see beyond its walls the pleasant plain. 
One child they had, these blissful royal twain ; 

171 



172 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Of whom 'tis told — so more than fair was he — 
There lurked at whiles a something shadowy 
Deep down within the fairness of his face ; 
As 'twere a hint of some not-earthly grace, 
Making the royal striphng rather seem 
The very dreaming offspring of a dream 
Than human child of human ancestry : 
And something strange-fantastical was he, 
I doubt not. Howsoever he upgrevv, 
And after certain years to manhood drew 
Nigh, so that all about his father's court. 
Seeing his graciousness of princely port, 
Rejoiced thereat; and many maidens' eyes 
Look'd pleased upon his beauty, and the sighs 
Of many told I know not what sweet tales. 

So, like to some fair ship with sunlit sails. 
Glided his youth amid a stormless sea. 
Till once by night there came mysteriously 
A fateful wind, and o'er an unknown deep 
Bore him perforce. It chanced that while in sleep 
He lay, there came to him a strange dim dream. 
'Twas like as he did float adown a stream. 
In a lone boat that had nor sail nor oar 
Yet seemed as it would glide for evermore. 
Deep in the bosom of a sultry land 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 173 

Fair with all fairness. Upon either hand 

Were hills green-browed and mist-engarlanded, 

And all about their feet were woods bespread, 

Hoarding the cool and leafy silentness 

In many an unsunned hollow and hid recess. 

Nought of unbeauteous might be there espied ; 

But in the heart of the deep woods and wide, 

And in the heart of all, was Mystery — 

A something more than outer eye might see, 

A something more than ever ear might hear. 

The very birds that came and sang anear 

Did seem to syllable some faery tongue. 

And, singing much, to hold yet more unsung. 

And heard at whiles, with hollow wandering tone. 

Far off, as by some aery huntsmen blown, 

Faint- echoing horns, among the mountains wound. 

Made all the live air tremulous with sound. 

So hour by hour (thus ran the Prince's dream) 
Glided the boat along the broadening stream ; 
Till, being widowed of the sun her lord. 
The purblind day went groping evenward : 
Whereafter Sleep compelled to his mild yoke 
The bubbling clear souls of the feathered folk. 
Sealing the vital fountains of their song, 
Howbeit the Prince went onward all night long 



174 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

And never shade of languor came on him, 
Nor any weariness his eyes made dim. 
And so in season due he heard the breath 
Of the brief winds that wake ere darkness' death 
Sigh through the woods and all the valley wide : 
The rushes by the water answering sighed : 
Sighed all the river from its reedy throat. 
And like a winged creature went the boat, 
Over the errant water wandering free, 
As some lone seabird over a lone sea. 

And Morn pale-haired with watery wide eyes 
Look'd up. And starting with a swift surprise. 
Sprang to his feet the Prince, and forward leant, 
His gaze on something right before him bent 
That like a towered and templed city showed. 
Afar off, dim with very light, and glowed 
As burnished seas at sundawn when the waves 
Make amber lightnings all in dim-roof'd caves 
That fling mock-thunder back. Long leagues away, 
Down by the river's green right bank it lay. 
Set like a jewel in the golden morn : 
But ever as the Prince was onward borne, 
Nearer and nearer danced the dizzy fires 
Of domes innumerable and sun-tipt spires 
And many a sky-acquainted pinnacle. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 175 

Splendid beyond what mortal tongue may tell ; 
And ere the middle heat of day was spent, 
He saw, by nearness thrice-magnificent, 
Hardly a furlong's space before him lie 
The City, sloping to the stream thereby. 

And therewithal the boat of its own will 
Close to the shore began to glide, until, 
All of a sudden passing nigh to where 
The glistering white feet of a marble stair 
Ran to the rippled brink, the Prince outsprang 
Upon the gleamy steps, and wellnigh sang 
For joy, to be once more upon his feet. 
Amid the green grass and the flowers sweet. 
So on he paced along the river-marge. 
And saw full many a fair and stately barge. 
Adorned with strange device and imagery. 
At anchor in the quiet waters lie. 
And presently he came unto a gate 
Of massy gold, that shone with splendid state 
Of mystic hieroglyphs, and storied frieze 
All overwrought with carven phantasies. 
And in the shadow of the golden gate. 
One in the habit of a porter sate, 
And on the Prince with wondering eye looked he. 
And greeted him with reverent courtesy. 



176 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Saying, " Fair sir, thou art of mortal race. 

The first hath ever journeyed to this place, — 

For well I know thou art a stranger here. 

As by the garb thou wearest doth appear ; 

And if thy raiment do belie thee not. 

Thou should'st be some king's son. And well I wot, 

If that be true was prophesied of yore, 

A wondrous fortune is for thee in store ; 

For though I be not read in Doomful Writ, 

Oft have I heard the wise expounding it, 

And, of a truth, the fatal rolls declare 

That the fi7'st mortal who shall hither fare 

Shall surely have our Maiden- Queen to wife, 

And while the world lives shall they tivain have life^ 

Hereat, be sure, the wonder-stricken youth, 
Holden in doubt if this were lies or truth, 
Was tongue-tied with amaze, and sore perplext. 
Unknowing what strange thing might chance him next. 
And ere he found fit words to make reply, 
The porter bade a youth who stood hard by 
Conduct the princely stranger, as was meet. 
Through the great golden gate into the street, 
And thence o'er all the city, wheresoe'er 
Was aught to show of wonderful or fair. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 177 

With that the Prince, beside his wiUing guide, 
Went straightway through the gate, and stood inside 
The wall, that, builded of a rare white stone, 
Clasp 'd all the city like a silver zone. 
And thence down many a shining street they passed, 
Each one appearing goodlier than the last, 
Cool with the presence of innumerous trees 
And fountains playing before palaces. 
And whichsoever way the Prince might look, 
Another marvel, and another, took 
His wildered eyes with very wonderment. 
And holding talk together as they went. 
The Prince besought his guide to tell him why 
Of all the many folk that passed them by 
There was not one that had the looks of eld. 
Or yet of hfe's mid-years ; for they beheld 
Only young men and maidens everywhere, 
Nor ever saw they one that was not fair. 
Whereat the stripling : " Master, thou hast seen, 
Belike, the river that doth flow between 
Flowers and grasses at the city's feet? " 
And when the Prince had rendered answer meet, 
"Then," said the other, "know that whosoe'er 
Drinks of the water thou beheldest there 
(It matters not how many are his years) 
Thenceforward from that moment he appears 



178 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Like as he was in youthly days, before 
His passed summers told beyond a score : 
And so the people of this land possess 
Unto all time their youth and comeliness." 

Scarce had his mouth made answer when there rose 
Somewhat of tumult, ruffling the repose 
Of the wide splendid street; and hfting up 
His eyes, the Prince beheld a glittering troop 
Of horsemen, each upon a beauteous steed, 
Toward them coming at a gentle speed. 
And as the cavalcade came on apace, 
A sudden pleasure lit the stripling's face 
Who bore him company and was his guide ; 
And " Lo, thou shalt behold our queen," he cried, — 
" Even the fairest of the many fair ; 
With whom was never maiden might compare 
For very loveliness ! " While yet he spake. 
On all the air a silver sound 'gan break 
Of jubilant and many-tongued acclaim, 
And in a shining car the bright queen came. 
And looking forth upon the multitude 
Her eyes beheld the stranger where he stood. 
And round about him was the loyal stir : 
And all his soul went out in love to her. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 179 

But even while her gaze met his, behold, 
The city and its marvels manifold 
Seemed suddenly removed far off, and placed 
Somewhere in Twilight ; and withal a waste 
Of sudden waters lay like time between ; 
And over all that space he heard the queen 
CalUng unto him from her chariot ; 
And then came darkness. And the Dream was not. 



PART THE SECOND 

A FEARFUL and a lovely thing is Sl-eep, 
And mighty store of secrets hath in keep ; 
And those there were of old who well could guess 
What meant his fearfulness and loveliness, 
And all his many shapes of life and death, 
And all the secret things he uttereth. 
But Wisdom lacketh sons like those that were, 
And Sleep hath never an interpreter : 
So there be none that know to read aright 
The riddles he propoundeth every night. 

And verily, of all the wondrous things 
By potence wrought of mortal visionings 
In that dark house whereof Sleep hath the keys — 



180 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Of suchlike miracles and mysteries 

Not least, meseems, is this among them all : 

That one in dream enamoured should fall, 

And ever afterward, in waking thought, 

Worship the phantom which the dream hath brought. 

Howbeit such things have been, and in such wise 

Did that king's son behold, with mortal eyes, 

A more than mortal loveliness, and thus 

Was stricken through with love miraculous. 

For evermore thereafter he did seem 
To see that royal maiden of his dream 
Unto her palace riding sovranly ; 
And much he marvelled where that land might be 
That basking lay beneath her beauty's beams, 
Well knowing in his heart that suchlike dreams 
Come not in idleness but evermore 
Are Fate's veiled heralds that do fly before 
Their mighty master as he journeyeth. 
And sing strange songs of life and love and death. 
x\nd so he did scarce aught but dream all day 
Of that far land revealed of sleep, that lay 
He knew not where ; and musing more and more 
On her the mistress of that unknown shore, 
There fell a sadness on him, thus to be 
Vext with desire of her he might not see 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 181 

Yet could not choose but long for ; till erewhile 

Nor man nor woman might behold the smile 

Make sudden morning of his countenance, 

But hkest one he seemed half-sunk in trance, 

That wanders groping in a shadowy land, 

Hearing strange things that none can understand. 

Now after many days and nights had passed, 

The queen, his mother well-beloved, at last, 

Being sad at heart because his heart was sad, 

Would e'en be told what hidden cause he had 

To be cast down in so mysterious wise : 

And he, beholding by her tearful eyes 

How of his grief she was compassionate. 

No more a secret made thereof, but straight 

Discovered to her all about his dream — 

The mystic happy marvel of the stream, 

A fountain running Youth to all the land ; 

Flowing with deep dim woods on either hand 

Where through the boughs did birds of strange song flit 

And all beside the bloomy banks of it 

The city with its towers and domes far-seen. 

And then he told her how that city's queen 

Did pass before him like a breathing flower. 

That he had loved her image from that hour. 

" And sure am I," upspake the Prince at last, 

" That somewhere in this world so wide and vast 



182 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Lieth the land mine eyes have inly seen ; — 
Perhaps in very truth my spirit hath been 
Translated thither, and in very truth 
Hath seen the brightness of that city of youth. 
Who knows ? — for I have heard a wise man say 
How that in sleep the souls of mortals may, 
At certain seasons which the stars decree, 
From bondage of the body be set free 
To visit farthest countries, and be borne 
Back to their fleshly houses ere the morn." 

At this the good queen, greatly marvelHng, 
Made haste to tell the story to the king ; 
Who hearing laughed her tale to scorn. But when 
Weeks followed one another, and all men 
About his person had begun to say 
" What ails our Prince ? He groweth day by day 
Less like the Prince we knew . . . wan cheeks, and 

eyes 
Hollow for lack of sleep, and secret sighs . . . 
Some hidden grief the youth must surely have," — 
Then like his queen the king himself wox grave ; 
And thus it chanced one summer eventide, 
They sitting in an arbour side by side. 
All unawares the Prince passed by that way, 
And as he passed, unmark'd of either — they 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 183 

Nought heeding but their own discourse — could hear 

Amidst thereof his own name uttered clear, 

And straight was 'ware it was the queen who spake, 

And spake of him ; whereat the king 'gan make 

Answer in this wise, somewhat angerly : 

" The youth is crazed, and but one remedy 

Know I, to cure such madness — he shall wed 

Some princess ; ere another day be sped, 

Myself will bid this dreamer go prepare 

To take whom I shall choose to wife ; some fair 

And highborn maiden, worthy to be queen 

Hereafter." — So the Prince, albeit unseen. 

Heard, and his soul rebelled against the thing 

His sire had willed ; and slowly wandering 

About the darkhng pleasance — all amid 

A maze of intertangled walks, or hid 

In cedarn glooms, or where mysterious bowers 

Were heavy with the breath of drowsed flowers — 

Something, he knew not what, within his heart 

Rose like a faint-heard voice and said " Depart . 

From hence and follow where thy dream shall lead." 

And fain would he have followed it indeed. 

But wist not whither it would have him go. 

Howbeit, while yet he wandered to and fro. 
Among his thoughts a chance remembrance leapt 



184 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

All sudden — like a seed, that long hath slept 

In earth, upspringing as a flower at last, 

When he that sowed forgetteth where 'twas cast ; 

A chance remembrance of the tales men told 

Concerning one whose wisdom manifold 

Made all the world to wonder and revere — 

A mighty mage and learn'd astrologer 

Who dwelt in honour at a great king's court 

In a far country, whither did resort 

Pilgrims innumerable from many lands. 

Who crossed the wide seas and the desert sands 

To learn of him the occult significance 

Of some perplexing omen, or perchance 

To hear forewhisperings of their destiny 

And know what things in aftertime should be. 

" Now surely," thought the Prince, " this subtile seer, 

To whom the darkest things belike are clear. 

Could read the riddle of my dream and tell 

Where lieth that strange land delectable 

Wherein mine empress hath her dwelling-place. 

So might I look at last upon her face. 

And make an end of all these weary sighs. 

And melt into the shadow of her eyes ! " 

Thus musing, for a httle space he stood 

As holden to the spot ; and evil, good, 

Life, death, and earth beneath and heaven above. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 185 

Shrank up to less than shadows, — only Love, 
With harpings of an hundred harps unseen, 
Filled all the emptiness where these had been. 

But soon, like one that hath a sudden thought. 
He hfted up his eyes, and turning sought 
The halls once more where he was bred, and passed 
Through court and corridor, and reached at last 
His chamber, in a world of ghmmer and gloom. 
Here, while the moonrays filled the wide rich room, 
The Prince in haste put off his courtly dress 
For raiment of a lesser sumptuousness 
(A sober habit such as might disguise 
His royal rank in any stranger's eyes) 
And taking in his hand three gems that made 
Three several splendours in the moonlight, laid 
These in his bosom, where no eye might see 
The triple radiance ; then all noiselessly 
Down the wide stair from creaking floor to floor 
Passed, and went out from the great palace-door. 

Crossing the spacious breadth of garden ground. 
Wherein his footfalls were the only sound 
Save the wind's wooing of the tremulous trees. 
Forth of that region of imperial ease 



186 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

He fared, amid the doubtful shadows dim, 

No eye in all the place beholding him ; 

No eye, save only of the warders, who 

Opened the gates that he might pass therethrough. 

And now to the safe-keeping of the night 
Intrusted he the knowledge of his flight ; 
And quitting all the purlieus of the court, 
Out from the city by a secret port 
Went, and along the moonlit highway sped. 
And himself spake unto himself and said 
(Heard only of the silence in his heart) 
" Tarry thou here no longer, but depart 
Unto the land of the Great Mage ; and seek 
The Mage ; and whatsoever he shall speak, 
Give ear to that he saith, and reverent heed j 
And wheresoever he may bid thee speed, 
Thitherward thou shalt set thy face and go. 
For surely one of so great lore must know 
Where lies the land thou sawest in thy dream : 
Nay, if he know not that, — why, then I deem 
The wisdom of exceeding little worth 
That reads the heavens but cannot read the earth." 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 187 



PART THE THIRD 



So without rest or tarriance all that night, 
Until the world was blear with coming light, 
Forth fared the princely fugitive, nor stayed 
His wearied feet till morn returning made 
Some village all a-hum with wakeful stir j 
And from that place the royal wayfarer 
Went ever faster on and yet more fast. 
Till, ere the noontide sultriness was past, 
Upon his ear the burden of the seas 
Came dreamlike, heard upon a cool fresh breeze 
That tempered gratefully a fervent sky. 
And many an hour ere sundown he drew nigh 
A fair-built seaport, warder of the land 
And watcher of the wave, with odours fanned 
Of green fields and of blue from either side ; — 
A pleasant place, wherein he might abide. 
Unknown of man or woman, till such time 
As any ship should sail to that far clime 
Where lived the famous great astrologer. 

Entered within its gates, a wanderer 
Besoiled with dust and no-wise richly drest, 
Yet therewithal a prince and princeliest 



188 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Of princes, with the press of motley folk 

He mixed unheeded and unknown, nor spoke 

To any, no man speaking unto him. 

But, being wearied sore in every limb, 

Sought out a goodly hostel where he might 

Rest him and eat and tarry for the night : 

And having eaten he arose and passed 

Down to the wharves where many a sail and mast 

Showed fiery-dark against the setting sun : 

There, holding talk with whom he chanced upon, 

In that same hour by great good hap he found 

The master of a vessel outward-bound 

Upon the morrow for that selfsame port 

Whither he sought to go (where dwelt at court 

The mage deep-read in starry charact'ry) . 

An honest man and pleasant-tongued was he, 

This worthy master- mariner ; and since 

He had no scorn of well-got gain, the Prince 

Agreed to pay him certain sums in gold, 

And go aboard his vessel, ere were told 

Two hours of sunlight on the coming day ; 

And thus agreed they wended each his way. 

For the dusk hour was nigh, and all the West 

Lay emptied of its sun. But as he pressed 

Up the long seaward-sloping street that ran 

Through half the town, the Prince sought out a man 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Who dealt in pearls and diamonds and all 
Manner of stones which men do precious call ; 
To whom the least of his three gems he sold 
For a great price, and laden with the gold 
Forthwith returned unto his hostelry 
And dreamed all night of seaports and the sea. 

Early the morrow-morn, a fair soft gale 
Blowing from overland, the ship set sail 
At turning of the tide ; and from her deck 
The Prince gazed till the town was but a speck, 
And all the shore became a memory : 
And still he gazed, though more he might not see 
Than the wide waters and the great wide sky. 
And many a long unchangeful day went by 
Ere land was sighted, but at length uprose 
A doubtful dusky something, toward the close 
Of the last hour before one sultry noon : 
Most hke an isle of cloud it seemed, but soon 
The sailors knew it for the wished strand, 
And ere the evenfall they reached the land. 
And that same night the royal wanderer lay 
In a strange city, amid strange folk, till Day 
Rose from the dim sea's lap and with his wings 
Fanned into wakefulness all breathing things. 



189 



190 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Then he uprose, but going forth that morn 
A sadness came upon him, and forlorn 
He felt within himself, and nowise light 
Of heart : for all his lonely travel might 
Prove void and fruitless and of no avail, 
(Thus pondered he) and should it wholly fail, 
What then were left him for to do ? Return 
To his own country, that his kin might learn 
To know him duped and fooled of fantasies. 
Blown hither and thither by an idle breeze 
From Dreamland ? Or in lieu, perchance, of this. 
Wander unresting, reft of hope and bliss, 
A mariner on a sea that hath no coast, 
Seeking a shade, himself a shade, and lost 
In shadows, as a wave is lost i' the sea. 

Thus in a heart not lightsome pondered he, 
And roamed from unfamiliar street to street. 
Much marvelling that all he chanced to meet 
Showed faces troubled as his own : for some 
Did weep outright, and over all a gloom 
Hung, as a cloud that blotteth out the sun. 
Wherefore the Prince addressed him unto one 
Of sadder visage even than the rest. 
Who, ever as he walked, or beat his breast 
Or groaned aloud or with his fingers rent 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 191 

His robe, and, being besought to say what meant 

This look of rue on all men's faces, cried 

In loud amazement, " What, can any abide 

Within this city, having ears to hear. 

Yet know not how this morn the mighty seer 

Hath died and left the land all desolate ? 

For now, when sudden ills befall the state, 

There will be none to warn or prophesy 

As he, but when calamities are nigh 

No man will know till they be come and we 

Be all undone together, woe is me ! " 

Thus ended he his outcry and again 
Passed on his way and mixed with other men 
Scarce joyfuller than he, if less they spake. 
Meanwhile upon the Prince's heart there brake 
Grief like a bitter wind, beneath whose breath 
Hope paled and sickened well-nigh unto death : 
For lo, those dumb and formless fears that came 
Within his heart that morn, and, like a flame 
That flickers long and dimly ere it die, 
Tarried and would not pass, but fitfully 
Flickered and flared and paled and flared again, — 
Lo, those mysterious messengers of pain. 
Dumb formless fears, were they not verified ? 
And lo, that voyage o'er the waters wide, 



192 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Was it not vain and a most empty thing? 
And what might now the years avail to bring, 
But hopes that barren live and barren die ? 

Thus did his heart with many an inward sigh 
Ask of itself, though answer there was none 
To be returned : and so the day, begun 
Tristfully, trailed an ever wearier wing ; 
Till toward night another questioning 
Like a strange voice from far beset his soul : 
And as a low wind wails for very dole 
About a tarn whereof the listless wave 
Maketh no answer to its plaining, save 
A sound that seems the phantom of its own, 
So that low voice making unbidden moan 
No answer got, saving the many sighs 
Its echoes ; and in this reproachful wise, 
Heaping new pain on him disconsolate. 
The low voice spake and spake, importunate : 
O Ffince thai wast and tvanderer that art, 
Say doth love live zvithin thy hidden heart 
{Love born of dream but nurtured wakingly) 
Ev''n as that Once when thy souPs eyes did see 
Love's visible self, and worshipt ? Or hast thou 
Fair n from thy faith in Her atid Love ere now. 
And is thy passion as a robe outworn ? 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 193 

Nay, love forbid! Yet wherefore art thou lorn 

Of hope and peace if Love be still thine own ? 

For, were the wondrous vision thou hast known 

Indeed Love's voice and Fate's {which are the same) 

Then, even as surely as the vision came, 

So surely shall it be fulfilled, if faith 

Abide in thee ; but if thy spirit saith 

Treason of Love or Fate, and unbelief 

House in thy heart, then surely shall swift grief 

Find thee, and hope {that should be as a breath 

Of song undying) shall even die the death, 

And thou thyself the death-in-life shall see, 

O Prince that wast, O wanderer that shall be / 

So spake the Voice. And in the pauses of 
That secret Voice, there 'gan to wake and move, 
Deep in his heart, a thing of blackest ill — 
The shapeless shadow men call Doubt, until 
That hour all unacquainted with his soul : 
And being tormented sore of this new dole, 
There came on him a longing to explore 
That sleep-discovered flowery land once more, 
Isled in the dark of the soul ; for he did deem 
That were he once again to dream The Dream, 
His faith new-stablish^d would stand, and be 
No longer vext of this infirmity. 



194 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

And so that night, ere lying down to sleep, 
There came on him, half making him to weep 
And half to laugh that such a thing should be, 
A mad conceit and antic fantasy 
(And yet more sad than merry was the whim) 
To crave this boon of Sleep, beseeching^ him 
To send the dream of dreams most coveted. 
And ere he lay him down upon his bed, 
A soft sweet song was born within his thought ; 
But if he sang the song, or if 'twas nought 
But the soul's longing whispered to the soul, 
Himself knew hardly, while the passion stole 
From that still depth where passion lieth prone. 
And voiced itself in this-like monotone : 

'' O Sleep, thou hollow sea, thou soundless sea. 
Dull-breaking on the shores of haunted lands, 
Lo, I am thine : do what thou wilt with me. 

But while, as yet unbounden of thy bands, 
I hear the breeze from inland chide and chafe 
Along the margin of thy muttering sands, 

Somewhat I fain would crave, if thou vouchsafe 
To hear mine asking, and to heed wilt deign. 
Behold, I come to fling me as a waif 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 195 

Upon thy waters, O thou murmuring main ! 

So on some wasteful island cast not me, 

Where phantom winds to phantom skies complain, 

And creeping terrors crawl from out the sea, 

(For such thou hast) — but o'er thy waves not cold 

Bear me to yonder land once more, where She 

Sits throned amidst of magic wealth untold : 
Golden her palace, golden all her hair. 
Golden her city 'neath a heaven of gold ! 

So may I see in dreams her tresses fair 
Down-falling, as a wave of sunhght rests 
On some white cloud, about her shoulders bare. 
Nigh to the snowdrifts twain which are her breasts." 

So ran the song, — say rather, so did creep. 
With drowsy faltering feet unsure, till Sleep 
Himself made end of it, with no rude touch 
Seahng the hps that babbled overmuch. 
Howbeit the boon of boons most coveted 
Withholden was, and in that vision's stead 
Another Dream from its dim hold uprose. 
Which he who tells the tale shall straight disclose. 



196 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

PART THE FOURTH 

That night he dreamed that over him there stole 
A change miraculous, whereby his soul 
Was parted from his body for a space, 
And through a labyrinth of secret ways 
Entered the world where dead men's ghosts abide 
To seek the Seer who yestermorn had died. 
And there in very truth he found the Seer, 
Who gazing on him said, " What would'st thou here, 
O royal-born, who visitest the coasts 
Of darkness, and the dwellings of the ghosts ? " 

Then said the Prince, " I fain would know to find 
The land as yet untrod of mortal-kind 
Which I beheld by gracious leave of Sleep." 
To whom the Spirit : " O Prince, the seas are deep 
And very wide betwixt thee and that land. 
And who shall say how many days do stand. 
As dim-seen armed hosts between thy bhss 
And thee ? — Moreover, in the world there is 
A certain Emerald Stone which some do call 
The Emerald of the Virtues Mystical ; 
(Though what those Virtues Mystical may be 
None living knows) and since, O youth, to me 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 197 

Thou dost apply for counsel, be it known 
Except thou have this wondrous emerald stone, 
Go seek through all the world, thou shalt not find 
The land thou wouldst : but like the houseless wind 
That roams the world to seek a resting-place, 
Thou through inhospitable time and space 
Shalt roam, till time and space deliver thee. 
To spaceless, timeless, mute eternity. 

" For in a certain land there once did dwell 
(How long ago it needs not I should tell) 
At the king's court a great astrologer, 
Ev'n such as erst was I, but mightier 
And far excelling ; and it came to pass 
That he fell sick ; and very old he was ; 
And knowing that his end was nigh, he said 
To him that sat in sorrow by his bed, 
' O master well-beloved and matchless king. 
Take thou and keep this' lowly offering 
In memory of thy servant ; ' whereupon 
The king perceived it was a gem that shone 
Like the sea's heart : and on one side of it 
This legend in an unknown tongue was writ — 
Who holdeth Me may go where none hath failed 
Before, and none shall follow afterward. 
So the king took the bright green stone betwixt 



198 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

His fingers, and upon the legend fixed 

His eyes, and said unto the dying Seer, 

' Now who shall render this dark scripture clear 

That I may know the meaning of the gift ? ' 

And the mage oped his mouth and strove to lift 

His voice, but could not, for the wished word 

Clave to his rattling throat, that no man heard : 

Whereby the soul, departing, bore away 

From all men living, even to this day, 

The secret. And the jewel hath passed down 

Seven times from sire to son, and in the crown 

It shineth of that country's kings, being called 

Ev'n to this day the mystic emerald ; 

But no man liveth in the world, of wit 

To read the writing that is on it writ." 

" O Master," said the Prince, " and wilt not thou 
Instruct me where to find the king who now 
Weareth the jewel in his diadem? " 
To whom the Spirit, " O youth, and if the gem 
Be worth the finding, is't not also worth 
The little pain of seeking through the earth ? — 
Yet so thou may'st not wander witlessly. 
Look thou forget not this I tell to thee : 
When in thy journeyings thou shalt dream once more 
The fateful dream thou haddest heretofore. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 199 

That filled thy vems with longing as with wine, 
Till all thy being brimm'd over — by that sign 
Thou mayest know thyself at last to be 
Within the borders of his empery 
Who hath the mystic emerald stone, whose gleam 
Shall hght thee to the country of thy dream." 

"But," said the Prince, "When all the world's high- 
ways 
My feet have trod, till after length of days 
I reach the land where lies the wondrous stone. 
How shall I make so rare a thing mine own? 
For had I riches more than could be told, 
What king would sell his jewels for my gold? " 
And on this wise the answer of the Seer 
Fell in the hollow of his dreaming ear : 
" Behold this Iron Chain, — of power it is 
To heal all manner of mortal maladies 
In him that wears it round his neck but once, 
Between the sun's downgoing and the sun's 
Uprising : take it thou, and hold it fast 
Until by seeking long thou find at last 
The king that hath the mystic emerald stone : 
And having found him, thou shalt e'en make known 
The virtues lodged within this charmed chain : 
Which when the king doth hear he will be fain 



200 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

To have possession of so strange a thing ; 
And thou shalt make a bargain with the king 
To give the Iron Chain in bartery 
For that mysterious jewel whereof he 
Knows not the secret worth. And when at last 
The emerald stone in thy own hands thou hast, 
Itself shall guide thee whither thou would'st go — 
Ev'n to the land revealed of sleep, where no 
Grief comes to mar their music, neither sound 
Of sighing, while the golden years go round." 

So spake the Spirit unto him that dreamed, 
And suddenly that world of shadow seemed 
More shadowy ; and all things began to blend 
Together : and the dream was at an end. 

Then slept the Prince a deep sweet sleep that knew 
Nor dream nor vision ; till the dawnhght grew 
Up, and his soul a sudden halt did make 
About the confines dim of sleep and wake. 
Where wandering lights and wildered shadows meet. 
But presently uprising to his feet 
From tarriance in that frontier-region dim. 
Exceeding wonderment laid hold on him ; 
For even while from off his bed he rose. 
He heard a clinking as of metal, close 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 201 

Thereby, and could in no-wise understand : 
And lo the Iron Chain was in liis hand ! 



PART THE FIFTH 

So, being risen, the Prince in brief while went 
Forth to the market-place, where babblement 
Of them that bought and them that sold was one 
Of many sounds in murmurous union — 
A buzzing as of bees about their hives, 
With shriller gossiping of garrulous wives 
Piping a tuneless treble thereunto : 
In midst whereof he went his way as who 
Looketh about him well before he buys. 
To mark the manner of their merchandise ; 
Till chancing upon one who cried for sale 
A horse, and seeing it well-limb'd and hale, 
And therewithal right goodly to behold, 
He bought the beast and paid the man in gold, 
And having gotten him the needful gear 
Rode from the market, nothing loth to hear 
Its garrulous wives no longer, and the din 
Of them that daily bought and sold therein. 
So from the place he passed, and slowly down 
Street after street betook him till the town 



202 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Behind hiin and the gates before him were, 
And all without was cornland greenly fair. 

And through the cornland wending many a mile, 
And through the meadowland, he came ere while 
To where the highways parted, and no man 
Was nigh to tell him whitherward they ran ; 
But while he halted all in doubtful mood. 
An eagle, as if mourning for her brood 
Stolen, above him sped with rueful cry ; 
And when that he perceived the fowl to fly 
Plaining aloud, unto himself he said, 
" Now shall yon mournful mother overhead 
Instruct the wandering of my feet, and they 
Shall follow where she leadeth : " and away 
The bird went winging westward clamorously, 
That westward even in her wake went he. 
And it may be that in his heart there stirred 
Some feeling as of fellowship with the bird ; 
For he, like her, was bound on a lone quest ; 
And for his feet, as for her wings, no rest 
Might be, but only urgence of desire. 
And one far goal that seemed not ever nigher. 

So through that country wended he his way, 
Resting anights, till on the seventh day 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 203 

He passed unwares into another land, 

Whose people's speech he could not understand — 

A tract o'er-run with tribes barbarian, 

And blood-red from the strife of man with man : 

And truly 'twas a thing miraculous 

That one should traverse all that rude land thus, 

And no man rid him of his gold, nor raise 

A hand to make abridgment of his days ; 

But there was that about him could make men's 

Hearts, ere they knew it, yield him reverence, — 

Perchance a sovran something in his eye. 

Whereat the fierce heart failed, it wist not why ; — 

Perchance that Fate which (hovering like a doubt 

Athwart his being) hemmed him round about, 

Gloomed as a visible shadow across his way. 

And made men fearful. Be this as it may, 

No harm befell him in that land, and so 

He came at last to where the ebb and flow 

Of other seas than he had wandered o'er 

Upflung to landward an attempered roar ; 

And wandering downward to the beach, he clomb 

To topmost of a tall grey cliff, wherefrom 

He saw a smoke as of men's houses, far 

Off, from a jutting point peninsular 

Uprising : whence he deemed that there a town 

Must surely be. And so he clambered down 



204 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

The cliff, and getting him again to horse 
Thither along the seabound held his course, 
And reached that city about sunset-tide 
The smoking of whose hearths he had espied. 

There at an hostel rested he, and there 
Tarried the coming of the morn. But ere 
He fell asleep that night, a wandering thought, 
Through darkling byeways of the spirit brought, 
Knock'd at his soul for entrance, whispering low 
" What if to-night thou dream The Dream, and know 
To-morrow, when thou wakest from that bliss, 
The land wherein thou liest to be his 
Who hath the mystic jewel in his keep?" 
So, full of flattering hope he fell asleep. 
And sleeping dreamed, but dreamed not that he would 
For at one time it seemed as if he stood 
Alone upon a sterile neck of land. 
Where round about him upon either hand 
W^as darkness, and the cry of a dark sea. 
And worldwide vapours glooming thunderously ; 
And ever as he stood, the unstable ground 
Slid from beneath his feet with a great sound. 
Till he could find no foothold anywhere 
That seemed not unsubstantial as the air. 
At otherwhiles he wandered all alone 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 205 

About a lonely land, and heard a moan 

As of some bird that sang and singing grieved ; 

And peering all about the woods thick-leaved 

If so he might espy the bird, he found 

At length, after long searching, that the sound 

Even from the bottom of his own heart came. 

And unawares his own mouth sang the same. 

And then in dream 'twas like as years went by, 

And still he journeyed, hardly knowing why. 

Till at the last a mist about him fell, 

And if the mist were death he could not tell, 

For after that he knew no more. And so 

He slept until the cock began to crow. 

Then came the gladful morn, that sendeth sick 
Dreams flying, and all shapes melancholic 
That vex the slumbers of the love-distraught. 
Unto his heart the merry morning brought 
Cheer, and forewhisperings of some far-off rest. 
When he should end in sweet that bitter quest. 
But going forth that morn, and with his feet 
Threading the murmurous maze of street and street, 
All strangely fell upon him everywhere 
The things he saw and heard of foul or fair. 
The thronging of the folk that filled the ways ; 
The hubbub of the street and market-place ; 



206 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

The sound of heavy wain-wheels on the stones ; 
The comely faces and ill-favoured ones ; 
The girls with apple-cheeks and hair of gold ; 
The grey locks and the wrinkles of the old ; — 
All these remote and unfamiliar 
Seem'd, and himself a something from afar, 
Looking at men as shadows on the wall 
And even the veriest shadow among them all. 

But now when all things dreamwise seemed to swim 
About the dubious eyes and ears of him, 
That nothing in the world might be believed, 
It chanced that on a sudden he perceived 
Where one that dealt in jewels sat within 
His doorway, hearkening to the outer din, 
As who cared no-wise to make fast his ears 
Against the babble of the street-farers : 
Whereat the merchant, seeing a stranger pass. 
Guessed by his garb what countryman he was, 
And giving him good-day right courteously 
Bespake him in his mother-tongue ; for he 
Had wandered in his youth o'er distant seas 
And knew full many lands and languages. 
Wherefore with him the royal stranger fell 
To talking cheerly, and besought him tell 
Whence all his gems were had and costly things, 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 207 

Talismans, amulets, and charmed rings : 
Whereto the other answered, They had come 
Some from a country not far hence, and some 
From out a land a thousand leagues away 
To eastward, ev'n the birthplace of the Day, 
The region of the sun's nativity ; 
And giving ear to this right readily 
The Prince would fain be told of him the way 
To that far homeland of the youngling Day. 
So, being ask'd, the other answered, " Sir, 
There liveth but one master-mariner 
Whose ship hath sailed so far : and that is he 
Who hither brought the jewels thou dost see. 
And now, as luck will have it for the nonce, 
He wills to voyage thitherward but once 
Before he die — for he is old like me — 
And even this day se'nnight saileth he. 
Wherefore if thou be fain to see that land, 
There needeth only gold within thy hand : 
For gold, if that it jingle true and clear. 
Hath still a merry music for man's ear. 
And where is he that hateth sound of it? " 
So saying, the merchant bade the stranger sit. 
But the Prince thanked him for his courtesy, 
And went his way. And that day se'nnight he 
Was sailing toward the far-off morningland, 



208 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

And felt the skies about him hke a band, 

And heard the low wind uttering numerous noise, 

And all the great sea singing as one voice. 



PART THE SIXTH 

Even as one voice the great sea sang. From out 
The green heart of the waters round about. 
Welled as a bubbling fountain silverly 
The overflowing song of the great sea ; 
Until the Prince, by dint of listening long, 
Divined the purport of that mystic song ; 
(For so do all things breathe articulate breath 
Into his ears who rightly harkeneth) 
And, if indeed he heard that harmony 
Aright, in this wise came the song of the sea : 

" Behold all ye that stricken of love do lie. 
Wherefore in manacles of a maiden's eye 
Lead ye the life of bondmen and of slaves? 
Lo in the caverns and the depths of Me 
A thousand mermaids dwell beneath the waves : 
A thousand maidens meet for love have I, 
Ev'n I the virgin-hearted cold chaste sea. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 209 

Behold all ye that weary of Hfe do he, 

There is no rest at all beneath the sky 

Save m the nethermost deepness of the deep. 

Only the silence and the midst of Me 

Can still the sleepless soul that fain would sleep ; 

For such, a cool death and a sweet have I, 

Ev'n I the crystal-hearted cool sweet sea. 

Behold all ye that in my lap do he. 

To love is sweet and sweeter still to die. 

And woe to him that laugheth me to scorn ! 

Lo in a little while the anger of Me 

Shall make him mourn the day that he was born : 

For in mine hour of wrath no ruth have I, 

Ev'n I the tempest-hearted pitiless sea." 

So sang the waters, if indeed 'twere they 
That sang unto the Prince's ears that day, 
Since in the ship was not a soul besides 
Could hear that burden of the voiceful tides ; 
For when he told the sailors of this thing, 
And ev'n what words the waters seemed to sing, 
They stared astonishment, and some, that had 
More churlish souls than others, held him mad, 
And laughed before his face outright. But when 
The captain heard the gossip of his men 



210 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Touching this marvel, the strange news begot 

No merry mood in him, who wist not what 

Should be the meaning of the miracle, 

Nor whether 'twere an omen good or ill. 

Wherefore the old seafarer — having heard 

The tale retold with many an afterword 

The mariners' own most fruitful wit supplied 

To grace the telling — took the Prince aside, 

And ask'd him sundry questions privily 

Concerning this same singing of the sea. 

So the Prince told him all there was to tell, 

And when that he had heard, the old man fell 

To meditating much, and shook his head 

As one exceeding ill at ease, and said, 

" I doubt the singing thou hast heard was no 

Voice of the waters billowing below. 

But rather of some evil spirit near, 

Who sought with singing to beguile thine ear, 

Spreading a snare to catch the soul of thee 

In meshes of entangling melody, 

W^hich taketh captive the weak minds of men. 

Therefore if thou should'st hear the sound again. 

Look thou content thee not with hearkening. 

But cast thine eyes around, and mark what thing 

Thou seest, and let no man know but me." 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 211 

So spake the white-haired wanderer of the sea. 
And on the morrow — when the seaUne grew 
O'erhazed with visible heat, and no wind blew, 
And the half-stifled morning dropt aswoon 
Into the panting bosom of the noon — 
There came into the Prince's ears anew 
The song that yestermorn had hearkened to. 
And lifting up his eyes in hope to see 
What lips they were that made such melody 
And filled him with the fulness of their sound. 
He saw the sun at highest of his round 
Show as a shield with one dark bloodstain blurred, 
By reason of the body of some great bird 
Like to an eagle, with wide wings outspread, 
Athwart the sunfire hovering duskly red. 
So to the master of the ship he told 
What he had witnessed, bidding him behold 
The marvel with his own eyes if he would ; 
Who, though he strained his vision all he could, 
Yet might not once endure to look the sun 
I' the face ; and caUing to him one by one 
The whole ship's crew, he bade each mariner look 
Sunward who could, but no man's eyes might brook 
The glare upon them of the noontide rays 
And lidless fervour of that golden gaze : 
So none of them beheld the bodeful bird. 



212 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

" Then said the greybeard captain, hardly heard 
Amid the babble of voices great and small, 
" The bird thou seest is no bird at all, 
But some unholy spirit in guise of one ; 
And I do fear that we are all undone 
If any amongst us hearken to its voice ; — 
For of its mouth, I doubt not, was the noise 
Thou heardest as of dulcet carolling. 
When at thine ear the waters seemed to sing." 

And truly, many a wiser man than he 
Herein had farther strayed from verity ; 
For that great bird that seemed to fan the sun's 
Face with its wings was even the same as once 
Flew screaming westward o'er the Prince's head. 
Beguiling him to follow where it fled. 
And bird it was not, but a spirit of ill. 
Man-hating, and of mankind hated still. 
And slave to one yet mightier demon-sprite 
Whose dwelling is the shadow of the night. 

So the days passed, and always on the next 
The bird-sprite like a baleful vision vexed 
The happy-hearted sunlight ; and each time 
Its false sweet song was wedded to the rhyme 
And chime of wind and wave — although it dropped 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 213 

As honey changed to music — the Prince stopped 
His ears, and would not hear ; and so the Sprite, 
Seeing his charmed songcraft of no might 
Him to ensnare who hearkened not at all, 
On the tenth day with dreadful noise let fall 
A tempest shaken from the wings of him. 
Whereat the eyes of heaven wox thunderous-dim. 
Till the day-darkness blinded them, and fell 
Holding the world in night unseasonable. 
And from his beaked mouth the demon blew 
A breath as of a hundred winds, and flew 
Downward aswoop upon the labouring bark, 
And, covered of the blear untimely Dark, 
Clutch'd with his gripple claws the Prince his prey. 
And backward through the tempest soared away. 
Bearing that royal burden ; and his eyes 
Were wandering wells of lightning to the skies. 

Long time the Prince was held in swound, and knew 
Nor outer world nor inner, as they flew 
From darkness unto darkness ; till at last — 
The' fierce flight over, and his body cast 
Somewhere alone in a strange place — the life 
Stirred in him faintly, as at feeble strife 
With covetous Death for ownership of him. 
And 'fore his eyes the world began to swim 



214 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

All vague, and doubtful as a dream that lies 
Folded within another, petal-wise. 
And therewithal himself but half believed 
His own eyes' testimony, and perceived 
The things that were about him as who hears 
A distant music throbbing toward his ears 
At noontide, in a flowery hollow of June, 
And listens till he knows not if the tune 
And he be one or twain, or near or far. 
But only feels that sound and perfume are, 
And tremulous light and leafy umbrage : so 
The Prince beheld unknowing, nor fain to know. 

About him was a ruinous fair place. 
Which Time, who still delighteth to abase 
The highest, and throw down what men do build, 
With splendid prideful barrenness had filled, 
And dust of immemorial dreams, and breath 
Of silence, which is next of kin to death. 
A weedy wilderness it seemed", that was 
In days fo repast a garden, but the grass 
Grew now where once the flowers, and hard by 
A many- throated fountain had run dry 
Which erst all day a web of rainbows wove 
Out of the body of the sun its love. 
And but a furlong's space beyond, there towered 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 215 

In middest of that silent realm deflowered 

A palace builded of black marble, whence 

The shadow of a swart magnificence 

Falling, upon the outer space begot 

A dream of darkness when the night was not. 

Which while the Prince beheld, a wonderment 

Laid hold upon him, that he rose and went 

Toward the palace-portico apace, 

Thinking to read the riddle of the place. 

And entering in (for open was the door) 

From hall to hall he passed, from floor to floor, 

Through all the spacious house, and (saving where 

The subtile spider had his darksome lair) 

No living creature could he find in it. 

Howbeit, by certain writing that was writ 

Upon the wall of one dark room and bare. 

He guessed that some great sorcerer had there 

Inhabited, a slave to his own lust 

Of evil power and knowledge, till the dust 

Received his dust, and darkness had his soul ; 

But ere death took him he had willed the whole 

Of his possessions to a Spirit of 111, 

His sometime mate in commerce damnable, 

Making him lord of that high house, wherein 

The twain had sealed their covenant of sin. 



216 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

With that a horror smote the Prince, and fain 
Would he have fled that evil spirit's domain 
And shook its dust from off his feet that hour. 
But from a window of the topmost tower 
Viewing the dim-leaved wilderness without, 
Full plainly he perceived it hemmed about 
With waves, an island of the middle sea. 
In watery barriers bound insuperably ; 
And human habitation saw he none, 
Nor heard one bird a-singing in the sun 
To Hghten the intolerable stress 
Of utter undisputed silentness. 

So by these signs he knew himself the thrall 
Of that foul spirit unseen, and therewithal 
Wholly unfellowed in captivity. 
Bound round with fetters of the tyrannous sea. 
And sick for very loneliness, he passed 
Downward through galleries and chambers vast 
To one wide hall wherefrom a vestibule 
Opened into a dim green space and cool. 
Where great trees grew that various fruitage bore 
The like whereof he had not seen before. 
And hard by was a well of water sweet ; 
And being anhungered he did pluck and eat 
The strange fair fruit, and being athirst did drink 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST lYJ 

The water, and lay down beside the brink ; 
Till sleep, as one that droppeth from the skies, 
Dropt down, and made a mist about his eyes. 



PART THE SEVENTH 

But Sleep, who makes a mist about the sense, 
Doth ope the eyehds of the soul, and thence 
Lifteth a heavier cloud than that whereby 
He veils the vision of the fleshly eye. 
And not alone by dreams doth Sleep make known 
The sealed things and covert — not alone 
In visions of the night do mortals hear 
The fatal feet and whispering wings draw near ; 
But dimly and in darkness doth the soul 
Drink of the streams of slumber as they roll, 
And win fine secrets from their waters deep : 
Yea, of a truth, the spirit doth grow in sleep. 

Howbeit I know not whether as he slept 
A voice from out the depth of dream upleapt 
And whispered in his ear ; or whether he 
Grew to the knowledge blindly, as a tree 
Waxes from bloom to fruitage, knowing not 
The manner of its growth : but this I wot, 



218 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

That rising from that sleep beside the spring 
The Prince had knowledge of a certain thing 
Whereof he had not wist until that hour — 
To wit, that two contending spirits had power 
Over his spirit, ruling him with sway 
Altern ; as 'twere dominion now of Day 
And now of Dark ; for one was of the light, 
And one was of the blackness of the night. 

Now there be certain evil spirits whom 
The mother of the darkness in her womb 
Conceived ere darkness' self; and one of these 
Did rule that island of the middle seas 
Hemmed round with silence and enchantment dim. 
Nothing in all the world so pleasured him 
As filling human hearts with dolorousness 
And banning where another sprite did bless ; 
But chiefly did his malice take dehght 
In thwarting lovers' hopes and breathing bhght 
Into the blossoms newly- opened 
Of sweet desire, till all of sweet were fled : 
And (for he knew what secret hopes did fill 
The minds of men) 'twas even now his will 
To step between the Prince and his desire, 
Nor suffer him to fare one furlong nigher 
Unto that distant-shining golden goal 
That beacon'd through the darkness to his soul. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 219 

And so the days, the sultry summer days. 
Went by, and wimpled over with fine haze 
The noiseless nights stole after them, as steals 
The moon-made shadow at some traveller's heels. 
And day by day and night by night the Prince 
Dwelt in that island of enchantment, since 
The hour when Evil Hap, in likeness of 
An eagle swooping from the clouds above, 
Did bind him body and soul unto that place. 
And in due time the summer waxed apace, 
And in due time the summer waned : and now 
The withered leaf had fallen from the bough, 
And now the winter came and now the spring ; 
Yea, summer's self was toward on the wing 
From wandering overseas : and all this while 
The Prince abode in that enchanted isle. 
Marvelling much at Fortune and her ways. 

And by degrees the slowly-sliding days 
Gathered themselves together into years. 
And oftentimes his spirit welled in tears 
From dawn to darkness and from dark to dawn, 
By reason of the light of life withdrawn. 
And if the night brought sleep, a fitful sleep. 
The phantoms of a buried time would creep 
Out of their hollow hiding-places vast. 



220 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Peopling his Present from the wizard Past. 

Sometimes between the whirl of dream and dream, 

All in a doubtful middle- world, a gleam ' 

Went shivering past him through the chill grey space, 

And lo he knew it for his mother's face, 

And wept ; and all the silence where he stood 

Wept with him. And at times the dreamer would 

Dream himself back beneath his father's roof 

At eventide, and there would hold aloof 

In silence, clothed upon with shadows dim, 

To hear if any spake concerning him ; 

But the hours came and went and went and came, 

And no man's mouth did ever name his name. 

And year by year he saw the queen and king 

Wax older, and beheld a shadowy thing 

Lurking behind them, till it came between 

His dreamsight and the semblance of the queen. 

From which time forth he saw her not : and when 

Another year had been it came again. 

And after that he saw his sire the king 

No more, by reason of the shadowy thing 

Stepping between ; and all the place became 

As darkness, and the echo of a name. 

What need to loiter o'er the chronicle 
Of days that brought no change ? What boots it tell 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 221 

The tale of hours whereof each moment was 
As Uke its fellow as one blade of grass 
Is to another, when the dew doth fall 
Without respect of any amongst them all? 
Enow that time in that enchanted air 
Nor slept nor tarried more than otherwhere, 
And so at last the captive hved to see 
The fiftieth year of his captivity. 
And on a day within that fiftieth year 
He wandered down unto the beach, to hear 
The breaking of the breakers on the shore, 
As he had heard them ofttimes heretofore 
In days when he would sit and watch the sea. 
If peradventure there some ship might be. 
But now his soul no longer yearned as then 
To win her way back to the world of men : 
For what could now his freedom profit him ? 
The hope that filled youth's beaker to its brim 
The tremulous hand of age had long outspilled, 
And whence might now the vessel be refilled? 
Moreover, after length of days and years 
The soul had ceased to beat her barriers. 
And Hke a freeborn bird that caged sings 
Had grown at last forgetful of her wings. 

And so he took his way toward the sea — 
Not, as in former days, if haply he 



222 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Might spy some ship upon the nether blue, 

And beckon with his hands unto the crew, 

But rather with an easeful heart to hear 

What things the waves might whisper to his ear 

Of counsel wise and comfortable speech. 

But while he walked about the yellow beach, 

There came upon his limbs an heaviness, 

For languor of the sultry time's excess ; 

And so he lay him down under a tree 

Hard by a little cove, and there the sea 

Sang him to sleep. And sleeping thus, he dreamed 

A dream of very wonderment : himseemed. 

The spirit that half an hundred years before 

In likeness of an eagle came and bore 

His body to that island on a day. 

Came yet again and found him where he lay, 

And taking him betwixt his talons flew 

O'er seas and far-off countries, till they drew 

Nigh to a city that was built between 

Four mountains in a pleasant land and green ; 

And there upon the highest mountain's top 

The bird that was no bird at all let drop 

Its burthen, and was seen of him no more. 

Thereat he waked, and issuing from the door 
Of dream did marvel in his heart ; because 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 223 

He found he had but dreamed the thing that was : 

For there, assuredly, was neither sea 

Nor Isle Enchanted ; and assuredly 

He sat upon the peak of a great hill ; 

And far below him, looking strangely still, 

Uptowered a city exceeding fair to ken, 

And murmurous with multitude of men. 



PART THE EIGHTH 

Now as it chanced, the day was almost spent 
When down the lonely mountain-side he went, 
The whitehaired man, the Prince that was ; and ere 
He won the silence of the valley where 
The city's many towers uprose, the gate 
Was closed against him, for the hour was late. 
So even as they that have not wherewithal 
To roof them from the rain if it should fall, 
Upon the grassy ground this king's son lay. 
And slept till nigh the coming of the day. 

But while as any vagabond he slept 
Or outcast from the homes of men, there crept 
Unto him lying in such sorry sort 
A something fairer than the kingliest court 



224 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

In all the peopled world had witness of — 

Even the shadow of the throne of Love, 

That from a height beyond all height did creep 

Along the pavement of the halls of sleep. 

O fair and wonderful ! that shadow was 

The golden dream of dreams that came across 

His youth, full half an hundred years before, 

And sent him wandering through the world. Once 

more 
In a lone boat that sails and oars had none, 
Midmost a land of summer and the sun 
Where nothing was that was not fair to see, , 
Adown a gliding river glided he. 
And saw the city that was built thereby, 
And saw the chariot of the queen draw nigh, 
And gazed upon her in the goodly street ; 
Whereat he waked and rose upon his feet. 
Remembering the Vision of the Seer, 
And what the spirit spake unto his ear : 
" When in thy wanderings thou shalt dream once more 
The fateful dream thou haddest heretofore, 
That filled thy veins with longing as with wine 
Till all thy being brimm'd over — by that sign 
Thou mayest know thyself at last to be 
Within the borders of his empery 
Who hath the mystic emerald stone, whose gleam 
Shall light thee to the country of thy dream." 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 225 

Then rose the heart within his heart and said : 
" O bitter scornful Fate, in days long dead 
I asked and thou denied'st mine asking : now 
The boon can no-wise profit me, and thou 
Dost mock me with bestowal ! " Thereupon 
He fell to thinking of his youthhood gone. 
And wept. For now the goal, the longtime-sought, 
Was even at hand, "but how shall I," he thought, 
" I that am old and sad and hoary-haired. 
Enter the place for youth and love prepared ? 
For in my veins the wellspring of desire 
Hath failed, and in mine heart the golden fire 
Burneth no more for ever. I draw near 
The night that is about our day, and hear 
The sighing of the darkness as I go 
Whose ancient secret there is none doth know." 

Ev'n so to his own heart he spake full sad. 
And many and bitter were the thoughts he had 
Of days that were and days that were to be. 
But now the East was big with dawn, and he 
Drew nigh the city-gates and entered in. 
Ere yet the place remurmured with the din 
Of voices and the tread of human feet ; 
And going up the void and silent street. 
All in the chill gleam of the new-lit air. 



226 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

A Thought found way into his soul, and there 

Abode and grew, and in brief while became 

Desire, and quickened to a quenchless flame : 

And holding converse with himself, he said, 

'' Though in my heart the heart's desire be dead, 

And can no more these time-stilled pulses move ; 

Though Death were lovelier to these eyes than Love 

Yet would these eyes behold, or ere I pass. 

The land that mirror'd lay as in a glass 

In the deep wells of dream. And her that is 

The sunlight of that city of all bhss, 

Her would I fain see once with waking eyes 

Whom sleep hath rendered unto vision twice. 

And having seen her beauty I would go 

My way, even to the river which doth flow 

From daylight unto darkness and the place 

Of silence, where the ghosts are face to face." 

So mused the man, and evermore his thought 
Gave him no peace. Wherefore next morn he sought 
The palace of the king, but on his way 
Tarried till nigh the middle of the day 
In talk with certain of the city- folk ; 
Whereby he learned, if that were true they spoke, 
How that the king their lord was nigh distract 
With torture of a strange disease that racked 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 227 

Each day his anguished body more and more, 
Setting at naught the leeches and their lore. 
Which having heard he went before the king, 
Who sat upon his throne, delivering 
Judgment, his body pierced the while with pain. 
And taking from his neck the charmed chain 
Which he had borne about him ever since 
That morn miraculous, the unknown Prince 
Upspake and said, " O king, I hold within 
My hand a wonder-working medicine 
Of power to make thee whole if thou wilt deign 
So to be healed ; " and he held the chain 
Aloft, and straightway told unto the king 
The passing worth and wonder of the thing. 

Then he that heard stretched forth a hand that 
shook 
With sudden fever of half-hope, and took 
The chain, and turned it over in his hand 
Until his eyes had left no link unscanned. 
And on each separate link was character'd 
A language that no living ear had heard. 
Occult, of secret import, mystic, strange. 
Then said the king, " What would'st thou in exchange 
For this the magic metal thou dost bring? " 
And the Prince answered him and said, '' O king, 



228 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Even the emerald stone which some do call 

The Emerald of the Virtues Mystical." 

And they who thronged the hall of judgment were 

Astonished at the stranger who could dare 

Ask such a boon ; and some base mouths did curl 

With sneers, churl whispering to his fellow churl, 

'' Who could have deemed the man so covetous, 

So void of shame in his great greed? " For thus 

It shall be ever underneath the sun, 

Each man believing that high hearts are none 

Whose own is as the dust he treads on low. 

But the king answered saying, " Be it so. 
To-night this chain of iron shall be worn 
About my neck, and on the morrow-morn, 
If all the pain have left these limbs of mine, 
The guerdon thou demandest shall be thine. 
But if this torment still tormenteth me. 
Thy head and shoulders shall part company. 
And both be cast uncoffin'd to the worms. 
Open thy mouth and answer if these terms 
Content thee." And aloud the Prince replied, 
" With these conditions I am satisfied : " 
Whereafter, rising from his knees, he went 
Out from before the king, and was content. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 229 

Next morning, when the king awoke, I wis 
No heart was Hghter in the land than his ; 
For all the grievous burden of his pains 
Had fall'n from off his limbs, and in his veins 
Upleapt the glad new life, and tTie sick soul 
Seemed like its body all at once made whole. 
But hardly was the king uprisen before 
There knock'd and entered at the chamber-door 
His chief physician (a right skilful leech. 
But given to hollow trickeries of speech, 
And artful ways and wiles) who said, *' O king, 
Be not deceived, I pray thee. One good thing 
Comes of another, like from like. The weed 
Beareth not lilies, neither do apes breed 
Antelopes. Thou art healed of thy pain 
Not by the wearing of an iron chain — 
An iron chain forsooth ! " — (hereat he laughed 
As 'twere a huge rare jest) " but by the draught 
Which I prepared for thee with mine own hands . 
From certain precious simples grown in lands 
It irks me tell how many leagues away : 
Which medicine thou tookest yesterday." 

Then said the king, " O false and jealous man, 
Who lovest better thine own praises than 
Thy master's welfare ! Little 'tis to such 



230 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

As thou, that I should be made whole ; but much 

That men should go before thee, trumpeting 

" ' Behold the man that cured our lord the king.' " 

And he was sore displeased and in no mood 

To hearken. But the chief physician stood 

Unmoved amid this hail of kingly scorn, 

With meek face martyr-like, as who hath borne 

Much in the name of Truth, and much can bear. 

And from the mouth of him false words and fair 

So cunningly flowed that in a little while 

The royal frown became a royal smile, 

And the king hearkened to the leech and was 

Persuaded. So that morn it came to pass 

That when the Prince appeared before the throne 

To claim his rightful meed, the emerald stone, 

The king denied his title to receive 

The jewel, saying, "Think'st thou I beheve 

Yon jingling chain hath healed my body ? Nay ; 

For whatsoever such as thou may say 

I am not found so easy to beguile : 

As for the gem thou wouldest, this good while 

It hath adorned the crown I wear, nor shall 

The stone be parted from the coronal." 

Scarce had the false king spoken when behold 
Through the high ceiling's goodly fretted gold 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 231 

A sudden shaft of lightning downward sped 
And smote the golden crown upon his head, 
Yea, melted ev'n as wax the golden crown. 
And from the molten metal there fell down 
A grassgreen Splendour, and the Emerald Stone 
Tumbled from step to step before the throne, 
And lay all moveless at the Prince's feet ! 
And the king sat upon his royal seat 
A dead king, marble-mute : but no man stirred 
Or spake : and only silence might be heard. 

Then he before whose feet the gem did lie 
Said not a word to any man thereby, 
But stooped and hfted it from off the floor, 
And passing outward from the open door 
Put the mysterious jewel in his breast 
And went his way, none daring to molest 
The stranger. For the whisper rose and ran, 
" Is not the lightning leagued with this man? " 

PART THE NINTH 

And passing through the city he went out 
Into thfe fat fields lying thereabout, 
And lo the spirit of the emerald stone 
With secret influence to himself unknown 



232 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Guided the wandering of his errant feet, 

The servants of the errant soul ; and sweet 

The meadows were, with babble of birds, and noise 

Of brooks, the water's voice and the wind's voice. 

Howbeit he gave small heed to any of them ; 

And now the subtile spirit of the gem 

Led him along a winding way that ran 

Beyond the fields to where the woods began 

To spread green matwork for the mountains' feet \ 

A region where the Silence had her seat 

And hearkened to the sounds that only she 

Can hear — the fall of dew on herb and tree ; 

The voice of the growing of the grass ; the night 

Down-fluttering breathless from the heaven's height ; 

And autumn whispering unawares at times 

Strange secrets and dark sayings, wrapt in rhymes 

Wind-won from forest branches. At this place 

The old man rested for a little space, 

Forgetful that the day was wellnigh flown : 

But soon the urgent spirit of the stone 

Itself re-entered and possessed anew 

His soul ; and led thereby, and wandering through 

A mile of trackless and untrodden ground, 

By favour of the rising moon he found 

A rude path, broken here and there by rills 

Which crossed it as they hurried from the hills. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 233 

And going whitherso the wild path went, 

A two hours' journeying brought him, welhiigh spent 

With toiUng upwards, to a mountain pass, 

K bleak lone place where no trees grew nor grass, 

But on each hand a peak of rock, high-reared. 

Uprose : afar the two hke horns appeared 

Of some great beast, so tapering-tall they were. 

And now with forward gaze the wanderer 

Stood where the pass was highest and the track 

Went downward both ways ; and behind his back 

The full moon shone, and lo before his face 

The bright sea glimmered at the mountain's base. 

It seemed, what way soever he might turn, 

His fate still led him to that watery bourn. 

So journeying down the track which lay before, 
Pie came, an hour past midnight, to the shore. 
And, looking backward, far above espied 
The two sharp peaks, one peak on either side 
Of that lone pass ; verily like a pair 
Of monstrous horns, the tips far- seen, up there : 
And in the nether space betwixt the two, 
A single monstrous eye the moon shone through. 

Now all this while the spirit of the stone 
Had led him forward, he, the old man lone, 



234 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Taking no thought of whither he was bound. 

And roaming now along the beach he found 

A creek, and in the creek, some httle way 

From where it joined the sea, a pinnace lay 

Moored at the marge ; and stepping thereinto, 

He sat him down, and from his bosom drew 

The mystic gem, and placed it at the prow. 

That he might watch its paly splendours, how 

They hghtened here and there, and flashed aflame. 

Mocked at the moon and put the stars to shame. 

But hardly was the stone out of his hand. 

When the boat wrenched her moorings from the land, 

And swift as any captive bird set free 

Shot o'er the shimmering surface of the sea^ 

The spirit of the emerald guiding her ; 

And for a time the old man could not stir 

For very greatness of astonishment. 

But merrily o'er the moonlit waters went 
The pinnace, till the land was out of sight, 
Far in the dreaming distance. All that night, 
Faster than ever wind in winter blew, 
Faster than quarrel flies the bow, she flew. 
A moment was a league in that wild flight 
From vast to vast of ocean and the night. 
And now the moon her lanthorn had withdrawn : 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 235 

And now the pale weak heralds of the dawn 

Lifted the lids of their blear eyes afar : 

The last belated straggler of a star 

Went home ; and in her season due the morn 

Brake on a cold and silent sea forlorn — 

A strange mute sea, where never wave hath stirred, 

Nor sound of any wandering wind is heard, 

Nor voice of sailors sailing merrily : 

A sea untraversed, an enchanted sea 

From all the world fate-folden ; hemmed about 

Of hnk^d Dreams ; encompassed with a Doubt. 

But not the less for lack of wind went she. 
The flying pinnace, o'er that silent sea. 
Till those dull waters of enchantment lay 
Behind her many a league. And now her way 
Was toward a shining tract of ocean, where 
Low winds with bland breath flattered the mild air, 
And low waves did together clasp and close, 
And skyward yearning from the sea there rose 
And seaward yearning from the sky there fell 
A Spirit of Deep Content Unspeakable : 
So midway meeting betwixt sky and sea,- 
These twain are married for eternity, 
And rule the spirits of that Deep, and share 
The lordship of the legions of the air. 



236 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Here winds but came to rest them from their wars 
With far seas waged. Here Darkness had her stars 
Always, a nightly multitudinous birth. 
And entering on this happier zone of earth, 
The boat 'gan bate her speed, and by degrees 
Tempered her motion to the tranquil seas, 
As if she knew the land not far ahead, 
The port not far : so forward piloted 
By that sweet spirit and strong, she held her way 
Unveering. And a little past midday. 
The wanderer lifted up his eyes, and right 
Before him saw what seemed a great wall, white 
As alabaster, builded o'er the sea. 
High as the heaven ; but drawing nearer he 
Perceived it was a mighty mist that lay 
Upon the ocean, stretching far away 
Northward and southward, and the sun appeared 
Powerless to melt its mass. And while he neared 
This cloudy barrier stretching north and south, 
A tale once told him by his mother's mouth, 
In childhood, while he sat upon her knee, 
Rose to remembrance : how that on the sea 
Sat somewhere a Great Mist which no Sufi's heat 
Could melt, nor wind make wander from its seat. 
So great it was, the fastest ship would need 
Seven days to compass it, ivith all her speed. 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 237 

And they of deepest lore and wisest wit 

Deemed that an island in the midst of it 

Bloomed like a rosebush ring'd with snows, a place 

Of pleasance, folded in that white embrace 

And chill. But never yet would pilot steer 

Into the fog that wrapped it round, for fear 

Of running blindfold in that sightless mist 

On sunken reefs whereof no mariner wist: 

And so from all the world this happy isle 

Lay hidden. Thus the queen, long since ; and while 

He marvelled if the mist before his ken 

Could be the same she told of— even then, 

Hardly a furlong 'fore the pinnace' prow 

It lay : and now 'twas hard at hand : and now 

The boat had swept into the folds of it ! 

But all that vision of white darkness— lit 

By the full splendour of the emerald stone 

That from the forepart of the pinnace shone — 

Melted around her, as in sunder cleft 

By that strong spirit of hght ; and there was left 

A wandering space, behind her and before. 

Of radiance, roofed and walled with mist, the floor 

A hquid pavement large. And so she passed 

Through twilight immemorial, and at last 

Issued upon the other side, where lay 

The land no mortal knew before that day. 



238 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

There wilding orchards faced the beach, and bare 
All manner of delicious fruit and rare, 
Such as in gardens of kings' palaces 
Trembles upon the sultry-scented trees, 
The soul of many sunbeams at its core. 
Well-pleased the wanderer landed on this shore, 
Beholding all its pleasantness, how sweet 
And soft, to the tired soul, to the tired feet. 
And so he sat him down beneath the boughs, 
And there a low wind seemed to drone and drowse 
Among the leaves as it were gone astray 
And like to faint forwearied by the way ; 
Till the persistence of the sound begat 
An heaviness within him as he sat : 
So when Sleep chanced to come that way, he found 
A captive not unwilling to be bound, 
And on his body those fine fetters put 
Wherewith he bindeth mortals hand and foot. 

When the tired sleeper oped again his eyes, 
'Twas early morn, and he beheld the skies 
Glowing from those deep hours of rest and dew 
Wherein all creatures do themselves renew. 
The laughing leaves blink'd in the sun, throughout 
Those dewy realms of orchard thereabout ; 
But green fields lay beyond, and farther still, 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 239 

Betwixt them and the sun, a great high hill 

Kept these in shadow, and the brighter made 

The fruitlands look for all that neighbouring shade. 

And he the soHtary man uprose, 

His face toward the mountain beyond those 

Fair fields not yet acquainted with the sun ; 

And crossed the fields, and climbed the hill, and won 

The top ; and journeying down the eastern side 

Entered upon a grassy vale and wide, 

Where in the midst a pure stream ran, as yet 

A youngling, hardly able to forget 

The lofty place of its nativity. 

Nor lusting yet for union with the sea. 

And through this valley, taking for his guide 

The stream, and walking by the waterside, 

He wandered on, but had at whiles to ford 

The lesser brooks that from the mountains poured 

Into this greater ; which by slow degrees, 

Enlarged with such continual soft increase. 

Became a river broad and fair, but still 

As clear as when it flowed a mountain-rill : 

And he the wanderer wandering by that stream 

Saw 'twas the river he had known in dream. 

So day by day he journeyed ; and it chanced 
One day he fared till night was well advanced 



240 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Ere lying down to sleep ; and when he waked 

Next morn, his bones and all his body ached, 

And on his temples lay a weary heat. 

And with sore pain he got upon his feet. 

Yet when he rose and hard at hand espied 

The City sloping to the riverside. 

With bright white walls and golden port agleam, 

Such as he saw them figured in the dream — 

Then the blood leapt as fire along his veins 

And the o'erwearied limbs forgat their pains. 

But when he strove to make what speed he might 

Toward the happy haven full in sight. 

The feet that would have hastened thereunto 

Could not ; and heavily, as old men do. 

He fell to earth, and groaned aloud and said, 

" Old man, what would'st thou, with thy silvered head, 

Yonder, where all their tresses be as gold 

For ever ? — Thou art suffered to behold 

The city of thy search : what wilt thou more ? 

Tarry thou here upon this river- shore ; 

Thou mightest farther go nor find the grass 

Greener, whereon to lay thy head, and pass 

Into the deep dark populous empty land." 

So spake the man, not able to withstand 
This dumb remonstrance of the flesh, now first 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 241 

Thwarting the soul. Howbeit a mighty thirst 
Consumed him, and he crawled unto the brink 
Of the clear stream hard by, that he might drink 
One draught thereof, and with the water still 
His deep desire. When lo a miracle ! 
No sooner had he drunken than his whole 
Body was changed and did from crown to sole 
The likeness of its youthful self put on. 
The Prince of half-an-huhdred years agone. 
Wearing the very garments that he wore 
What time his years were but a single score. 

Then he remembered how that in The Dream 
One told him of the marvel of that stream. 
Whose waters are a well of youth eterne. 
And night and day its crystal heart doth yearn 
To wed its youthhood with the sea's old age ; 
And faring on that bridal pilgrimage. 
Its waters past the shining city are rolled, 
And all the people drink and wax not old. 



242 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 



PART THE TENTH 

That night within the City of Youth there stood 
Musicians playing to the multitude 
On many a gold and silver instrument 
Whose differing souls yet chimed in glad consent. 
And sooth-tongued singers, throated hke the bird 
All darkness holds its breath to hear, were heard 
Chanting aloud before the comely folk, 
Chanting aloud till none for listening spoke, 
Chanting aloud that all the city rang ; 
And whoso will may hear the song they sang : — 



*' O happy hearts, O -youths and damsels, pray 
What new and wondrous thing hath chanced to-day, 
O happy hearts, what wondrous thing and new? 
Set the gold sun with kinglier-mightful glance, 
Rose the maid-moon with queenlier countenance. 
Came the stars forth a merrier madder crew, 
Than ever sun or maiden-moon before. 
Or jostling stars that shook the darkness' floor 
With night- wide tremor 'neath their dizzy dance ? 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 243 

Strong is the Sun, but strong alway was he ; 
The Moon is fair, but ever fair showed she ; 
The Stars are many, and who hath known them few ? 
As now they be, so heretofore were they : 
What is the wondrous thing hath chanced to-day, 
O happy hearts, the wondrous thing and new. 
Whereof ye are glad together even more 
Than of the sunHght or the moonhght or 
The Hght o' the stars that strow the milky-way? 

For all your many maidens have the head 
In goodly festal wise engarlanded. 
With flowers at noon the banquet of the bees. 
And leaves that in some grove at midday grew : 
And ever since the falling of the dew 
Your streets are full of pomps and pageantries. 
Laughter and song, feasting and dancing : — nay, 
Surely some wondrous thing hath chanced to-day ; 
O happy hearts, what wondrous thing and new ? 



II 

No, no, ye need not answer any word ! 
Heard have we all — who lives and hath not heard? 
What thing the sovran Fates have done to-day ; 
Who turn the tides of life which way they please, 



244 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

And sit themselves aloft, aloof, at ease : 
Dwellers in courts of marble silence they. 
No need to ask what thing the Fates have done 
Between the sunrise and the set of sun, 
Mute-moving in their twihght fastnesses ! 

Changeless, aloft, aloof, mute-moving, dim, 
In ancient fastnesses of twilight — him 
Have they not sent this day, the long-foretold, 
The long-foretold and much-desired, of whom 
'Twas whilom written in the rolls of doom 
How in a dream he should this land behold. 
And hither come from worldwide wandering. 
Hither where all the folk should hail him king. 
Our king foredestined from his mother's womb ? 

Long time he tarried, but the time is past, 
And he hath come ye waited for, at last : 
The long-foretold, the much-desired, hath come. 
And ye command your minstrels noise abroad 
With lyre and tongue your joyance and his laud, 
And, sooth to say, the minstrels are not dumb. 
And ever in the pauses of our chant, 
So for exceeding perfect joy ye pant. 
We hear the beating of your hearts applaud ! 



THE PRINCE'S QUEST 245 



III 



And she our Queen — ah, who shall tell what hours 
She bode his coming in her palace-towers, 
Unmated she in all the land alone? 
'Twas yours, O youths and maids, to clasp and kiss ; 
Desiring and desired ye had your bliss : 
The Queen she sat upon her loveless throne. 
Sleeping she saw his face, but could not find 
Its phantom's phantom when she waked, nor wind 
About her finger one gold hair of his. 

Often when evening sobered all the air, 
No doubt but she would sit and marvel where 
He tarried, by the bounds of what strange sea ; 
And peradventure look at intervals 
Forth of the windows of her palace walls, 
And watch the gloaming darken fount and tree ; 
And think on twilight shores, with dreaming caves 
Full of the groping of bewildered waves. 
Full of the murmur of their hollow halls. 

As flowers desire the kisses of the rain, 
She his, and many a year desired in vain : 
She waits no more who waited long enow. 
Nor listeth he to wander any more 



246 THE PRINCE'S QUEST 

Who went as go the winds from sea to shore, 
From shore to sea who went as the winds go. 
The winds do seek a place of rest ; the flowers 
Look for the rain ; but in a while the showers 
Come, and the winds lie down, their wanderings o'er. 



ANCxELO. 

Seven moons, new moons, had eastward set their 
horns 
Averted from the sun ; seven moons, old moons, 
Westward their sun-averted horns had set j 
Since Angelo had brought his young bride home, 
Lucia, to queen it in his Tuscan halls. 
And much the folk had marvelled on that day- 
Seeing the bride how young and fair she was. 
How all unlike the groom ; for she had known 
Twenty and five soft summers woo the world. 
He twice as many winters take 't by storm. 
And in those half-an-hundred winters, — ay, 
And in the summer's blaze, and blush of spring. 

And pomp of grave and grandiose autumntides, — 
Full many a wind had beat upon his heart. 
Of grief and frustrate hope full many a wind. 
And rains full many, but no rains could damp 
The fuel that was stored within ; which lay 

247 



248 ANGELO 

Unlighted, waiting for the tinder- touch, 
Until a chance spark fall'n from Lucia's eyes 
Kindled the fuel, and the fire was love : 
Not such as rises blown upon the wind, 
Goaded to flame by gusts of phantasy, 
But still, and needing no replenishment. 
Unquenchable, that would not be put out. 

Albeit the lady Lucia's bosom lacked 
The ore had made her heart a richer mine 
Than earth's auriferous heart unsunned ; from her 
Love went not out, in whom there was no love. 
Cold from the first, her breast grew frore, and bit 
Her kind lord's bosom with its stinging frost. 
Because he loved the fields and forests, made 
Few banquetings for highborn winebibbers, 
Eschewed the city and led no sumptuous life. 
She, courtly, sneered at his uncourtliness. 
Deeming his manners of a bygone mode. 
And for that he was gentle overmuch. 
And overmuch forbearant, she despised, 
Mocked, slighted, taunted him, and of her scorn 
Made a sharp shaft to wound his life at will. 
She filled her cup with hate and bade him drink. 
And he returned it brimming o'er with love. 



• ANGELO 249 

And so seven moons had waxed and waned since 
these 
Were wedded. And it chanced, one morn of Spring 
Lucia bespake her spouse in even more 
Ungentle wise than was her wont, and he, 
For the first time, reproved her ; — not as one 
That having from another ta'en ill words 
Will e'en cry quits and barter words as ill ; 
But iiker as a father, whom his child 
With insolent lips hath wounded, chides the child 
Less than he knows it had been wise to do, 
Saying within himself : " The time will come 
When thou wilt think on thy dead father, how 
Thou might'st have spoken genther unto him 
One day, when yet thy father was alive : 
So shall thy heart rebuke thy heart enow : " — 
Ev'n thus did Angelo reprove his wife. 

But though the words from his rough-bearded lips 
Were like sweet water from the mouth of some 
Rock-fountain hewn with elemental hands, 
They fell as water cast i' the fire, to be 
Consumed with hissing rage. Her wrath, let loose. 
Blew to and fro, and hither and thither, like 
A wind that seems to have forgotten whence 
It came, and whither it was bidden blow. 



250 ANGELO 

She cursed the kinsfolk who had willed that she 
Should wed with him ; and cursed herself that gave 
Ear to the utterance of their will ; and cursed 
The day on which their will became her deed : 
Saying — and this he knew not until now — 
" Fool, I should ne'er have wedded thee at all, 
No, neither thee nor any like to thee. 
Had not my father wellnigh forced me to 't." 
And he that hearkened, the Lord Angelo, 
Spake not a word, but bowed his head, and went 
Forth of his castle to the forest nigh, 
And roamed all day about the forest, filled 
With grief, and marvelling at her lack of love. 

But that which soreher bruised his breast than ev'n 
Lucia's exceeding lack of love for him, 
Was this new knowledge, that in taking her 
To wife — in the very act of taking her 
To wife — himself had crossed the secret will 
Of her whose will in all things it had been 
His soul's most perfect bHss to gratify. 
Wherefore, to make atonement, in some sort, 
For this one wrong he deemed that he had done 
The woman — this one crossing of her will — 
He knelt him down under the brooding shade 
Of a huge oak, and vowed 'fore heaven a vow : 



ANGELO 251 

To wit, that Lucia never afterward 

Should in his hearing utter forth a wish 

For aught of earthly but himself would see 

That wish fulfilled, if such fulfilment were 

An end that mortal man could compass. Then 

Uprising, he beheld the sinking sun 

A vast round eye gaze in upon the wood 

Through leafy lattice of its nether boughs : 

Whereat he turned him castlewards, and owned 

A lighter heart than he had borne that day. 

Homeward his face no sooner had he set 
Than through the woods came riding unto him 
A stranger, of a goodly personage, 
Young, and right richly habited, who stayed 
His horse, and greeted Angelo, and said : 
" I pray you, sir, direct me how to find 
An hostel, if there be such hereabouts ; 
For I have ridden far, and lost my way 
Among these woods, and twilight is at hand." 
Then he that heard replied to him that asked, 
Saying : " The nearest inn is farther hence 
Than mine own house ; make therefore mine own 

house 
Your inn for this one night, and unto such 
Poor entertainment as my house affords 



252 ANGELO 

You are most welcome." So the stranger thanked 
In courtly speeches the Lord Angelo, 
Gladly accepting hospitahties 
That were so gladly proffered ; and the two 
Fared on together, host and guest that were 
To be, until they reached the castle, where 
Angelo dwelt, and where his fathers lived 
Before him, lords of land, in olden days. 

And entering in, the castle's later lord 
Led the young signor to the chamber where 
The lady Lucia sat, who rose to give 
The stranger courteous welcome. (When she chose, 
Of looks and lips more gracious none than she.) 
But soon as she beheld the young man's face, 
A sudden pallor seized her own, and back 
She started, wellnigh swooning, but regained 
Her wonted self as suddenly, declared 
'Twas but a momentary sickness went 
Arrow-like through her, sharp, but therewithal 
Brief as the breath's one ebb and flow ; and which, 
Passing, had left her painless as before. 
And truly, from that moment she appeared 
More brightly beautiful, if Angelo 
Erred not, than she had looked for many a day. 



ANGELO 253 

So in brief while the stranger-guest sat down, 
With host and hostess, to a table charged 
With dehcate meats, and fragrant fruits, and wine. 
And when the meal was over, and themselves 
Were with themselves alone — the serving-men 
Having withdrawn — a cheerful converse rose 
Concerning divers matters old and new. 
And Angelo that evening let his tongue 
Range more at freedom than he used ; for though 
No man was less to prating given than he, 
Yet, when he liked his hstener, he could make 
His mouth discourse in such a wise that few 
Had failed to give delighted audience. 
For he had learning, and, besides the lore 
Won from his books, a better wisdom owned — 
A knowledge of the stuff whence books are made. 
The human mind and all it feeds upon. 
And, in his youth a wanderer, he had roamed 
O'er many countries, not as one who sees 
With eyes alone, and hearkens but with ears ; 
Rather as who would slake the thirst of the soul 
By sucking wisdom from the breasts of the world. 

Wherefore the hours flew hghtly, winged with words ; 
Till Angelo, from telling of his own 
Young days and early fortunes good and ill. 



254 ANGELO 

Was with remembrance smitten, as it chanced, 

Of some old grief 'twas grief to think upon. 

And so he changed his theme o' the sudden, donned 

A shadowy mask of laboured pleasantry, 

And said : " My wife, sir, hath a pretty gift 

Of singing and of luting : it may be 

If you should let your tongue turn mendicant — 

Not for itself but for its needy kin, 

Your ears — she might be got to give an alms 

For those twin brethren." Whereupon the guest 

Unto his hostess turned and smiling said : 

" That were indeed a golden alms your voice 

Could well afford, and never know itself 

The poorer, being a mint of suchUke coin." 

And she made answer archly : "I have oft 

Heard flatterers of a woman's singing say 

Her voice was silvery : — to compare 't with gold 

Is sure a new conceit. But, sir, you praise 

My singing, who have not yet heard me sing." 

And he : "I take it that a woman's speech 

Is to her singing what a bird's low chirp 

Is to its singing : and if Philomel 

Chirp in the hearing of the woodman, he 

Knows 'tis the nightingale that chirps, and so 

Expects nought meaner than its sovereign song. 

Madam, 'tis thus your speaking-voice hath given 



ANGELO 255 

Earnest of what your singing-voice will be ; 
And therefore I entreat you not to dash 
The expectations you have raised so high, 
By your refusal." And she answered him : 
" Nay, if you think to hear a nightingale, 
I doubt refusal could not dash them more 
Than will compliance. But in very truth. 
The boon you crave so small and worthless is, 
'Twere miserly to grudge it. Where's my lute?" 

So saying, she bethought her suddenly — 
Or feigned to have bethought her suddenly — 
How she had left the lute that afternoon 
Lying upon an arbour-seat, when she 
Grew tired of fingering the strings of it — 
Down in the garden, where she wont to walk, 
Her lute loquacious to the trees' deaf trunks. 
And Angelo, right glad to render her 
Such little graceful offices of love. 
And gladder yet with hope to hear her sing 
Who had denied his asking many a time. 
Awaited not another word, but rose 
And said, " Myself will bring it," and before 
She could assent or disapprove, was gone. 

Scarce had he left the chamber when behold 
His wife uprose, and his young stranger-guest 



256 ANGELO 

Uprose, and in a trice they cast their arms 

About each other, kissed each other, called 

Each other dear and love, till Lucia said : 

" Why cam'st thou not before, my Ugo, whom 

I loved, who lovedst me, for many a day, 

For many a paradisal day, ere yet 

I saw that lean fool with the grizzled beard 

Who's gone a-questing for his true wife's lute? " 

And he made answer : " I had come erenow, 

But that my father, dying, left a load 

Of cumbrous duties I had needs perform — 

Dry, peevish, crabbed business at the best, 

Impertinences indispensable. 

Accumulated dulness, if you will. 

Such as I would not irk your ears withal : 

Howbeit I came at last, and nigh a week 

Have tarried in the region hereabouts, 

Unknown — and yearning for one glimpse of you, 

One word, one kiss from you, if even it were 

One only and the last ; until, to-day. 

Roaming the neighbouring forest, I espied 

Your husband, guessed it was your husband, feigned 

I was a traveller who had lost myself 

Among the woods, received from him — ah, now 

You laugh, and truly 'tis a famous jest — 

A courteous invitation to his house. 



ANGELO 257 

Deemed it were churlish to refuse, and so — 
And so am here, your Ugo, with a heart 
The loyal subject of your sovereign heart, 
As in old days." Therewith he sat him down, 
And softly drawing her upon his knee 
Made him a zone of her lascivious arms. 

But thus encinctured hardly had he sat 
A moment, when, returning, iVngelo 
Stood at the threshold of the room, and held 
The door half opened, and so standing saw 
The lovers, and they saw not him ; for half 
The chamber lay in shadow, by no lamp 
Lighted, or window to admit the moon : 
And there the entrance was, and Angelo. 

And listening to their speech a little space. 
The fugitive brief moments were to him 
A pyramid of piled eternities. 
For while he hearkened, Ugo said : " My love. 
Answer me this one question, which may seem 
Idle, yet is not ; — how much lov'st thou me ? " 
And she replied : " I love thee just as much 
As I do hate my husband, and no more." 
Then he : " But prithee how much hatest thou 
Thy husband? " And she answered : " Ev'n as much 



258 ANGELO 

As I love thee. To hate him one whit more 

Than that, were past the power of Lucia's hate." 

And Ugo : *' If thou lovest me so much, 

Grant me one gift in token of thy love." 

Then she : " What would'st thou ? " And he answered 

her : 
" Even thyself; no poorer gift will I." 
But Lucia said : " Nay, have I not bestowed 
My love, which is my soul, my richer self? 
My poorer self, which is my body, how 
Can I bestow, when 'tis not in mine own 
Possession, being his property forsooth. 
Who holds the ecclesiastic title-deed? . . . 
Yet — but I know not . . . if I grant this boon. 
Bethink thee, how wilt carry hence the gift? 
Quick. For the time is ail-too brief to waste." 
And Ugo spake with hurrying tongue : " Right so : 
To-morrow, therefore, when the sun hath set. 
Quit thou the castle, all alone, and haste 
To yonder tarn that lies amid the trees 
Haply a furlong westward from your house — 
The gloomy lakelet fringed with pines — and there 
Upon the hither margin thou shalt find 
Me, and two with me, mounted all, and armed, 
With a fourth steed to bear thee on his back : 
And thou shalt fly with me, my Lucia, till 



ANGELO 259 

Thou reach my castle in the mountain'd North, 

Whose mistress I will make thee, and mine own." 

Then Lucia said : " But how if Angelo 

Pursue and overtake us?" Whereupon 

Ugo replied : " Pursue he may, — o'ertake 

He shall not, save he saddle him the wind. 

Besides — to grant the impossible — if he 

Were to o'ertake us, he could only strive 

To win you back with argument ; wherein 

My servants, at their master's bidding, could 

Debate with him on more than equal terms : 

Cold steel convinces warmest disputants. 

Or, if to see the bosom marital 

Impierced, would make your own consorted heart 

Bleed sympathetic, some more mild — " But she, 

The beauteous Fury, interrupted him 

With passionate-pallid Hps : " Reproach me not 

Beforehand — even in jest reproach me not — 

With imputation of such tenderness 

For him and his life — when thou knowest how 

I hate, hate, hate him, — when thou knowest how 

I wish, and wish, and wish, that he were dead." 

Then Angelo bethought him of his vow ; 
And stepping forward stood before the twain ; 
And from his girdle plucked a dagger forth ; 
And spake no word, but pierced his own heart through. 



THE QUESTIONER 

I ASKED of heaven and earth and sea. 
Saying : " O wondrous trinity, 
Deign to make answer unto me, 
And tell me truly what ye be." 
And they made answer : " Verily, 
The mask before His face are we, 
Because 'tis writ no man can see 
His face and live ; " — so spake the three. 
Then I : " O wondrous trinity, 
A mask is but a mockery — 
Make answer yet again to me 
And tell if aught besides are ye." 
And they made answer : " Verily, 
The robe around His form are we, 
That sick and sore mortality 
May touch its hem and healed be." 
Then I : " O wondrous trinity, 
Vouchsafe once more to answer me, 
260 



THE QUESTIONER 1(A 

And tell me truly, what is He 
Whose very mask and raiment ye? " 
But they replied : " Of Time are we, 
And of Eternity is He. 
Wait thou, and ask Eternity ; 
Belike his mouth shall answer thee." 



THE RIVER 



As drones a bee with sultry hum 
When all the world with heat lies dumb, 
Thou dronest through the drowsed lea, 
To lose thyself and find the sea. 

As fares the soul that threads the gloom 
Toward an unseen goal of doom, 
Thou farest forth all witlessly, 
To lose thyself and find the sea. 



II 

My soul is such a stream as thou. 
Lapsing along it heeds not how ; 
In one thing only unlike thee, — 
Losing itself, it finds no sea. 
262 



THE RIVER 263 



Albeit I know a day shall come 
When its dull waters will be dumb ; 
And then this river-soul of Me, 
Losing itself, shall find the sea. 



CHANGED VOICES 

Last night the seawind was to me 
A metaphor of Hberty, 

And every wave along the beach 
A starht music seemed to be. 

To-day the seawind is to me 

A fettered soul that would be free, 

And dumbly striving after speech 
The tides yearn landward painfully. 

To-morrow how shall sound for me 
The changing voice of wind and sea ? 

What tidings shall be borne of each ? 
What rumour of what mystery ? 
264 



A SUNSET 

Westward a league the city lay, with one 
Cloud's imminent umbrage o'er it : when behold, 
The incendiary sun 
Dropped from the womb o' the vapour, rolled 
'Mongst huddled towers and temples, 'twixt them set 
Infinite ardour of candescent gold, 
Encompassed minaret 
And terrace and marmoreal spire 
With conflagration : roofs enfurnaced, yet 
Unmolten, — columns and cupolas flanked with fire, 
Yet standing unconsumed 
Of the fierce fervency, — and higher 
Than all, their fringes goldenly illumed. 
Dishevelled clouds, like massed empurpled smoke 
From smouldering forges fumed : 
Till suddenly the bright spell broke 
With the sun sinking through some palace-floor 
And vanishing wholly. Then the city woke, 
Her mighty Fire-Dream o'er. 
As who from out a sleep is raised 
265 



266 A SUNSET 

Of terrible loveliness, lasting hardly more 
Than one most monumental moment ; dazed 
He looketh, having come 
Forth of one world and witless gazed 
Into another : ev'n so looked, for some 
Brief while, the city — amazed, immobile, dumb. 



A SONG OF THREE SINGERS 



Wave and wind and willow-tree 
Speak a speech that no man knoweth ; 
Tree that sigheth, wind that bloweth, 
Wave that floweth to the sea : 
Wave and wind and willow-tree. 

Peerless perfect poets ye, 
Singing songs all songs excelling, 
Fine as crystal music dwelling 
In a welling fountain free : 
Peerless perfect poets three ! 

II 

Wave and wind and willow-tree 
Know not aught of poets' rhyming, 
Yet they make a silver- chiming 
Sunward- climbing minstrelsy, 
Soother than all songs that be. 
267 



268 A SONG OF THREE SINGERS 

Blows the wind it knows not why, 
Flows the wave it knows not whither, 
And the willow swayeth hither 
Swayeth thither witlessly, 
Nothing knowing save to sigh. 



LOVE'S ASTROLOGY 

I KNOW not if they erred 

Who thought to see 
The tale of all the times to be, 

Star-character'd ; 
I know not, neither care. 
If fools or knaves they were. 

But this I know : last night 
On me there shone 
Two staj's that made all stars look wan 
And shamed quite, 
Wherefrom the soul of me 
Divined her destiny. 
269 



THREE FLOWERS 

I MADE a little song about the rose 

And sang it for the rose to hear, 
Nor ever marked until the music's close 

A lily that was listening near. 

The red red rose flushed redder with delight, 
And like a queen her head she raised. 

The white white lily blanched a paler white. 
For anger that she was not praised. 

Turning I left the rose unto her pride, 

The lily to her enviousness, 
And soon upon the grassy ground espied 

A daisy all companionless. 

Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed ; 

And not so graciously it grew 
As rose or lily : but methought it seemed 

More thankful for the sun and dew. • 



THREE FLOWERS 271 



Dear love, my sweet small flower that grew'' st among 
The grass, from all the flowers apart, — 

Forgive me that I gave the rose my song. 
Ere thou, the daisy, hadst my heart / 



THREE ETERNITIES 

Lo, thou and I, my love, 
And the sad stars above, — 
Thou and I, I and thou ! 
Ah could we lie as now 
Ever and aye, my love. 
Hand within hand, my love, 
Heart within heart, my dove, 
Through night and day 
For ever ! 

Lo, thou and I, my love, 
Up in the sky above. 
Where the sun makes his home 
And the gods are, my love, 
One day may wander from 
Star unto star, my love, — 
Soul within soul, my love, 
Yonder afar 
For ever ! 
272 



THREE ETERNITIES 21 Z 

Lo, thou and I, my love, 
Some time shall lie, my love. 
Knowing not night from day. 
Knowing not toil from rest, — 
Breast unto breast, my love. 
Even as now for aye : 
Clay within clay, my love, 
Clay within clay 
For ever ! 



LOVE OUTLOVED 



Love cometh and love goeth, 
And he is wise who knoweth 
Whither and whence love flies : 
But wise and yet more wise 
Are they that heed not whence he flies or whither 
Who hither speeds to-day, to-morrow thither ; 
Like to the wind that as it listeth blows, 
And man doth hear the sound thereof, but knows 
Nor whence it comes nor whither yet it goes. 

II 

O sweet my sometime loved and worshipt one 

A day thou gavest me 
That rose full-orbed in starlike happiness 
And lit our heaven that other stars had none : — 
Sole as that westering sphere companionless 

When twilight is begun 
And the dead sun transfigureth the sea : 

274 



LOVE OUTLOVED 275 

A day so bright 
Methought the very shadow, from its Hght 

Thrown, were enough to bless 
(Albeit with but a shadow's benison) 
The unborn days its dark posterity. 

Methought our love, though dead, should be 
Fair as in life, by memory 
Embalmed, a rose with bloom for aye unblown. 
But lo the forest is with faded leaves 
And our two hearts with faded loves bestrown, 
And in mine ear the weak wind grieves 
And uttereth moan : 
" Shed leaves and fallen, fallen loves and shed, 
And those are dead and these are more than dead ; 

And those have known 
The springtime, these the lovetime, overthrown. 
With all fair times and pleasureful that be." 
And shall not we, O Time, and shall not we 
Thy strong self see 
Brought low and vanquished. 
And made to bow the knee 
And bow the head 
To one that is when thou and thine are fled, 
The silent-eyed austere Eternity? 



276 LOVE OUTLOVED 

III 

Behold a new song still the lark doth sing 

Each morning when he riseth from the grass, 

And no man sigheth for the song that was, 

The melody that yestermorn did bring. 

The rose dies and the lily, and no man mourns 

That nevermore the selfsame flower returns : 

For well we know a thousand flowers will spring, 

A thousand birds make music on the wing. 

Ay me ! fair things and sweet are birds and flowers, 

The scent of lily and rose in gardens still, 

The babble of beaked mouths that speak no ill % 

And love is sweeter yet than flower or bird. 

Or any odor smelled or ditty heard — 

Love is another and a sweeter thing. 

But when the music ceaseth in Love's bowers. 

Who listeneth well shall hear the silence stirred 

With aftermoan of many a fretful string : 

For when Love harpeth to the hollow hours, 

His gladdest notes make saddest echoing. 



VANISHINGS 

As one whose eyes have watched the stricken day 
Swoon to its crimson death adown the sea, 
Turning his face to eastward suddenly 
Sees a lack-lustre world all chill and gray, — 
Then, wandering sunless whitherso he may, 
Feels the first dubious dumb obscurity. 
And vague foregloomings of the Dark to be. 
Close like a sadness round his glimmering way ; 
So I, from drifting dreambound on and on 
About strange isles of utter bhss, in seas 
Whose waves are unimagined melodies. 
Rose and beheld the dreamless world anew : 
Sad were the fields, and dim with splendours gone 
The strait sky-glimpses fugitive and few. 

277 



BEETHOVEN 

O MASTER, if immortals suffer aught 
Of sadness like to ours, and in like sighs 
And with like overflow of darkened eyes 
Disburden them, I know not ; but methought, 
What time to day mine ear the utterance caught 
Whereby in manifold melodious wise 
Thy heart's unrestful infelicities 
Rose like a sea with easeless winds distraught. 
That thine seemed angel's grieving, as of one 
Strayed somewhere out of heaven, and uttering 
Lone moan and alien wail : because he hath 
Failed to remember the remounting path. 
And singing, weeping, can but weep and sing 
Ever, through vasts forgotten of the sun. 

278 



GOD-SEEKING 

God-seeking thou hast journeyed far and nigh. 

On dawn-Ut mountain-tops thy soul did yearn 

To hear His traiUng garments wander by ; 

And where 'mid thunderous glooms great sunsets burn, 

Vainly thou sought' st His shadow on sea and sky ; 

Or gazing up, at noontide, could'st discern 

Only a neutral heaven's indifferent eye 

And countenance austerely taciturn. 

Yet whom thou soughtest I have found at last ; 
Neither where tempest dims the world below 
Nor where the westering daylight reels aghast 
In conflagrations of red overthrow : 
But where this virgin brooklet silvers past, 
And yellowing either bank the king-cups blow. 

279 



SKYFARING 

Drifting through vacant spaces vast of sleep, 
One overtook me Uke a flying star 
And whirled me onward in his glistering car. 
From shade to shade the winged steeds did leap, 
And clomb the midnight like a mountain-steep ; 
Till that vague world where men and women are, 
Ev'n as a rushlight down the gulfs afar. 
Paled and went out, upswallowed of the deep. 

Then I to that ethereal charioteer : 
"O whither through the vastness are we bound? 
O bear me back to. yonder bhnded sphere ! " 
Therewith I heard the ends of night resound ; 
And, wakened by ten thousand echoes, found 
That far-off planet lying ail-too near. 

280 



LYRIC LOVE. 

An Anthology. 

EDITED BY 

WILLIAM WATSON. 

(With a steel vignette after Stoddard, engraved by W. Ridgway.) 



Golden Treasury Series, i6mo, $i.oo. Also in Ornamental 
Silk, $1.50 ; Half Morocco, $3.00. 



Times. — "A charming anthology. ... A task well worthy of the author 
of ' Wordsworth's Grave,' who has accomplished it with great skill and a 
very catholic taste." 

Scotsman. — " It is a charming collection of verse, nearly all of which 
is fine, and the volume is a prize for any one who desires a neat little pocket- 
ful of lyrics." 

Glasgow Herald. — " The book is quite a delightful body of verse." 
Daily Chronicle. — " An admirable and an exemplary anthology." 
Boston Beacon. — "As William Watson is indisputably a poet him- 
self, it is reasonable to assume that he knows good poetry when he sees it, 
and one may therefore accept on trust the little anthology called ' Lyric 
Love,' which forms a new and worthy addition to the Golden Treasury Se- 
ries. . . . Critics may not be entirely willing to agree that Mr. Watson has 
been free from prejudice in ' disregarding the mere adventitious distinction 
of antiquity,' but there can be no question that in attempting this he has had 
more space for the moderns who are better suited to the taste of nine out of 
ten cultured readers. The book has notes and an index of first lines. It 
should be given a place beside Palgrave's ' Best Songs and Lyrical Poems,' 
to which it forms an indispensable supplement." 

Public Ledger, Philadelphia. — " This anthology represents the choicest 
flowers of EngHsh love poetry gathered from three centuries of song. The* 
editor was fastidious, and his aim was far from merely collecting love 
lyrics, for it includes the bringing together, whenever practicable, of the best 
English poetry having love as its personal inspiration and objective theme. 
Thus, many passages, where the primal agency was love, have been selected 
from plays and from narrative verse, when they could be detached from the 
context without impairing their integrity. The range of selection is wide, 
and the anthology is guided by the best of taste. ' Lyric Love ' forms a good 
second to the peerless ' Golden Treasury ' of Professor Palgrave, and it has 
the advantage of including some beautiful specimens of modern love, and 
many old songs which have no place in other collections." 



MACMILLAN & CO., 

112 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 



THE DEATH OF (ENONE, 
AKBAR'S DREAM,.*' OTHER POEMS 

BY 

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON. 

i6mo. $1.25. 



A few Copies of the limited large Paper Edition are still 
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" ' CEnone ' is of singular beauty — that ' excellent beauty ' noted by Bacon, 
which has in it something ' strange.' It is very brief; but its very brevity, 
stern and strong, gives it a greater force. . . . Since Dido fell upon her love- 
less pyre, few statelier scenes of love's death have been portrayed in this 
Virgilian manner." — The Academy. 

" There is as much of sadness as of pleasure in the feeling with which one 
takes up this new volume of poems. It is the swan-song of a great poet; 
with two or three exceptions, the book is entirely new. There is some rare 
music in it, and some songs that none but he could have sung." — Chicago 
Tribune. 



WANDERERS. 



Being: a collection of the Poems of WILLIAM WINTER. New 

edition, revised and enlarged. With a Photogravure Portrait of the 
author. Limited large paper edition, printed on English hand-made 
paper. Price, $2.50. 

"... But it has seemed to the author of these poems — which of course 
are offered as absolutely ijapersonal — that they are the expression of various 
representative moods of human feeling and various representative aspects of 
human experience, and that therefore they possibly possess the inherent 
right to exist." — From the Preface. 

" The poems have a singular charm in their graceful spontaneity." — Scots 
Observer. 

" Free from cant and rant — clear-cut as a cameo, pellucid as a mountain 
brook. It may be derided as trite, borne, unimpassional; but in its own 
modest sphere it is, to our thinking, extraordinarily successful, and satisfies 
us far more than the pretentious mouthing which receives the seal of over- 
hasty approbation." — Athenceum. 



MACMILLAN & CO., 

112 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 



BALLADS 



AND 



BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS, 

BY 

RUDYARD KIPLING. 

i2mo. Cloth extra. $1.25. 



" It is distinguished by qualities which we should have expected from his 
prose, but it is distinguished by other and higher qualities which we should 
not have expected from his prose, or the prose of any living English writer, 
they are so purely poetical, so admirable, so noble, so exquisite. . . . Mr. 
Kipling possesses the instinct of balladry in a greater degree than any 
living English poet, for beyond all his contemporaries he understands the 
poetic value of pathetic, heroic actions . . . such as he himself celebrates in 
his ' Ballad of East and West,' which stirs the blood like the sound of a 
trumpet, it is so noble, so heroic, so magnificent." — Richai'd Henry Stod- 
dard, in the Mail and Express. 

" Mr. Kipling differs from other ballad-writers of the day in that he has 
that rare possession, imagination ; and he has the temerity to speak out what 
is in him, with no conventional reservations or deference to the hypocrisies 
of public opinion." — Boston Beacon. 

"Mr. Kipling is seen at his best in this latest collection of ballads." — 
BtiUetin, Philadelphia. 

" Mr. Kipling's verse is strong, vivid, full of character. . . . Unmistak- 
able genius rings in every line." — Londo7i Times. 

" ' Barrack- Room Ballads ' contains some of the best work that Mr. Kip- 
ling has ever done, which is saying a good deal. ' Fuzzy-Wuzzy,' ' Gunga 
Din,' and ' Tommy * are, in our opinion, altogether superior to anything of 
the kind that English literature has hitherto produced." — Athentenvi. 

" These Ballads are as wonderful in their descriptive power as they are 
vigorous in their dramatic force. I'here are few ballads in the English lan- 
guage more stirring than ' The Ballad of East and West,' worthy to stand by 
the Border ballads of Scott." — Spectator. 

" The Ballads teem with imagination, they palpitate with emotion. We 
read them with laughter and tears; the metres throb in our pulses, the cun- 
ningly ordered words tingle with life; and if this be not poetry, what is?" — 
Pall Mall Gazette. 

" The finest thing of the kind since Macaulay's ' Lays.' It is in their 
rhythm that his Ballads are especially striking, their hearty exhilarating 
march irresistible as the ' Marseillaise.' There is no arguing with such an 
Orphic metre. You simply take up your bed and march along." — Daily 
Chronicle. 

"Mr. Kipling is probably our best ballad-writer since Scott." — Daily 
News. 



MACMILLAN & CO., 

112 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, 



C74 89*^ 









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